


Knightline

by Multishea



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Tim Drake - Fandom, Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne A03
Genre: BAMF Eggsy Unwin, Bad Person Ra's al Ghul, Blood and Injury, Duke Thomas and Stephanie Brown only by mention (sorry Signal and Spoiler fans), Fictional Locations ahead so don't be surprised, Gen, No Slash, Ra's Al Ghul's age is all over the map so I took a stab at it if you disagree please don't flame me, Red Robin/Kingsman crossover, Some cursing but no F bombs especially from you know who, Tim Drake is a BAMF, Tim Drake-centric, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multishea/pseuds/Multishea
Summary: Tim Drake (Red Robin) is in London when the lockdown hits due to COVID-19. He runs into a bit of a problem and needs help handling it. Things just kind of snowball from there, as you'll soon see. Sorry, but I'm lousy at summaries and don't want to give too much away.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Harry Hart & Eggsy Unwin, Tim Drake & Eggsy Unwin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	1. London's Great but I'd Really Like to Go Home Now! I'd Really Like to Go Home RIGHT NOW!

Chapter **1 – London’s Great but I’d Really Like to go Home Now! I’d Really Like to go Home RIGHT NOW!**

  
It might not be impossible, Timothy Jackson Drake (and sometimes Wayne) ruminated, to get home right now, but this was going to be an obstacle even Bruce Wayne’s money and connections (and Batman’s) were going to have trouble muscling aside, he reflected. If, he paused ruefully, that should even happen. Tim didn’t believe he’d been directly exposed to the Coronavirus but couldn’t totally rule it out. Some of his fellow travelers almost certainly had. Two guests, that he knew of, and some of the hotel employees had tested positive, and contact tracing revealed he’d received secondhand exposure. Hence, his self- imposed quarantine. He’d tested negative, but he wanted to give it more time to be on the safe side. If there was even the most miniscule chance, no way was he going to take it home to Bruce, Dick, Cass, Jason, Damian, Steph, Barbara and especially Alfred. No way. It was bad enough Steph and her mom had tested positive. The two were quarantined together, and Tim would not be able to see them for at least two weeks, maybe more. Steph couldn’t even patrol. It was frustrating for her and worrying for her friends and family. In this one instance, however, Bruce had come thru with a vengeance, insisting Steph and her mom have everything they needed that he could possibly provide. (“Stephanie is Tim’s good friend, Mrs. Brown. I insist. Please, let me help”). By Steph’s daily report, they were both recovering, but it was slow going. Likewise, Duke, who didn’t have much blood family left, was quarantined caring for a cousin. Bruce was intently keeping an eye on that situation too, making sure Duke and his cousin were well provided for in every way possible. The boss bat fretted over the young man he considered his newest son but understood there was only so much he could do. It frustrated Bruce that he couldn’t simply just gather Duke, Steph and their ill relatives into to Wayne Manor for the duration, but he recognized that wasn’t a realistic solution. Not with Alfred to consider.

  
The young CEO was in the British capital city on WE business that had also unexpectedly become bat business (maybe, but Tim really hoped that turned out not to be the case). Not that he minded being on Brit soil, as a matter of fact, he kinda dug it. Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly, Big Ben and all that. It was a great place to hang out, to work even. The English were fun to do business with once you got past their natural reserve, and he generally appreciated their sometimes painfully dry sense of humor. Props to one Alfred Pennyworth for that. He even had a liking for British cooking (some of it anyway). Alfred again. Seriously, those cukewiches were to die for. Die for, Heh, Jason would have felt that one. He also liked the fact that they didn’t take in his youthful appearance and instantly dismiss him as some airhead lightweight playing dress up, unworthy to speak for Bruce and make whatever decisions needed to be made on behalf of WE. He hadn’t once had to deal with the exquisitely polite insinuation that if Mr. Wayne couldn’t come himself (Batman’s a busy guy, alright? sheesh!) the multi-billionaire might have at least sent Lucius Fox in his place instead of Tim. They merely accepted Timothy Drake as their worthy counterpart and got down to business, what business had been able to be concluded before everything had been jacked by the pandemic.

  
Really good thing his prior business had gone so smoothly, since the whole WE thing unexpectedly turned critically important as COVID-19 reared up to challenge on so many fronts. As things stood, Tim and Bruce and WE’s priorities had shifted from the matter that had brought him to London. He was now occupied with helping Bruce and Lucius Fox coordinate pivoting some of Wayne Enterprises European subsidiaries from their present production to manufacturing PPE and ventilators and also to procuring as much of that equipment as could be spared for the hard hit British and European population and Gotham’s hospitals and healthcare workers. WE’s, Bruce’s, Tim’s, hell, everyone’s priorities and attention shifted to fighting the killer virus. Everyone except Ra’s Al Ghul, naturally, used tampon that he was. Hell, Tim mused, Ra’s probably figured his Lazarus Pits would protect him from the virus’s effects, and, maybe he was right, but no one, least of all WE’s young public face, had time for entertaining his narcissistic, immortal dumbassery. Or his ninja’s. Yeah, Tim had spied ninja’s skulking around the edges of his life. So far that was all, but damn. Besides, Tim wanted to be with his family, working with them to do whatever they could to protect their city. If not for the Head Demon pervert and his bottomless supply of sick twistedness, Tim and his compromised immune system would already be safely back behind the wrought iron gates and ivy covered walls of Wayne Manor or maybe tucked up in the comfy confines of his converted theatre apartment, stocked to the gills and keeping connected to Gotham and the other Bats thru his systems and the help of Oracle. Ah, who was he kidding. If he were home now, he’d be ducking and dodging around the city using every trick he knew to avoid Oracle, (sure Tim), a gruffly protective Batman or a mother-henning Nightwing to keep from being cornered and forced into quarantine “for your own good, ‘cause Timmy with no spleen you gotta admit that puts you in the high- risk category, right?” His eldest brother’s voice ran thru his head on an endless loop. Dick Grayson in ultra-protective mode was absolutely terrifying. And, also, there was Jason to think about. The jerk would help Bruce and Dick corral Tim just to watch Tim suffer.

  
Instead, here he sat, trying, and failing for the most part, to relax in the well-appointed surroundings of WE’s permanently reserved suite of rooms in the Dorchester. He contemplated the admittedly excellent room service menu and placed an order for a light dinner, grateful that such a thing was still an option, as venturing out to find a meal was a spectacularly bad idea given present conditions. Since the virus’s arrival on the continent and subsequent landing on the English isle, things had tightened up considerably. With a significant portion of the population ordered to remain at home, all hotels were struggling to function with skeleton staff and supplies. The city’s hospitality industry had really stepped up and were, in Tim’s humble opinion, doing an excellent job of caring for any guests who were temporarily unable to return to their homes and home countries. Oxford scientists, the young businessman/superhero/genius was aware, were making progress with rapid testing technology for the Coronavirus. Most likely, thanks in no small part to those remarkable minds, soon, he’d be able to board Bruce’s company jet and bid jolly old Britannia a fond farewell. He wanted to go home, badly wanted to. The lead on Ra’s activities that had brought him to the city had morphed into a probable dead end anyway. Already having communicated that to Batman via the family’s own secured communications system, all Tim waited for now was the all clear to return to Gotham and his own digs. Sleeping in his own bed, whether it was his bedroom in the Manor after a cup or fifteen of Alfred’s sublime coffee or slipping into the warmth of his king-sized bed in his apartment, all the same to him. Tim shook himself. No more whining. Other people had it a lot worse, and there had already been so many tragic deaths. He could bear a lot more than a little homesickness.  
RRRRIINNNGGG! The noise from his cell jolted him full on woke. He let it ring twice more before hitting the small green circle to answer. Caller ID showed his brother Jason’s face, middle finger extended and familiar smirk on display strictly for his younger brother’s benefit, Tim was sure. Since Jay had it coming, _he bet Cass didn’t get that when Jason face-timed her,_ Tim let him have it with a jaw cracking yawn and a full body stretch. His tired, tight muscles enjoyed it. He straightened up and grinned, opening his eyes to Jason’s peeved expression.

  
“Are you finished?” Jason asked with a sour frown.

  
Tim’s grin widened. Annoying Jason was fun now that the brothers had reached the point where doing it wasn’t likely to end with the third Robin getting his throat sliced by a pissed off Red Hood.  
“Yup” he replied, mission accomplished, he allowed the grin to fade to a smirk that matched Jay’s earlier one.

  
“You have no class” Jason informed him, full of mock indignation. “Also, you look like a starving anaconda when you yawn like that and don’t cover your mouth. Rude.”

  
“This from the man who’s face time greeting for me includes flipping me the bird? Yeah, sure Jason. Whatever. I know its early evening there. And I also know that Coronavirus or no Coronavirus, Gotham is still Gotham and you’ll be doing patrols. So why you talking to me instead of being flat on your face in bed, sleeping?” Tim responded conversationally. From what little he could see around the other’s head, Jason was calling from the Manor, the kitchen to be precise. Probably engaging in his pre-patrol ritual of raiding Alfred’s cookie stash again.

  
“It just so happens” the other informed him righteously, “it was my turn next up on the Little Timmy wheel” Jason finished with a sniff. Tim thought he could be annoying, but former street kid and present terror/protector of Crime Alley, Jason Peter Todd was a master at making people want to run head first into a wall, and quite proud of his leadership standing in the field. NO ONE could be more aggravating than him when he really went all in and he knew it. Look upon my works ye suckers and despair.

  
“Huh?” Tim was stumped. “What the---What, please, is the Little Timmy Wheel?” Tim asked, even as a thousand microscopic Tim’s in his head were screaming, _no, no, NO, don’t ask, now he’ll know he’s won! Stupid! **AAAUUUGGGHH!**_

  
Magnanimous in victory, Jason tempered his gloat. Well, not really but he won, so he could spin it however he wanted. “You seriously didn’t know? Ok, here’s the deal. You, Timbo, have such a singularly sucky track record at taking care of your health, between the WE work, RR cases, San Francisco, good ole’ Gotham, your AWOL spleen, your truly mind boggling sleep dep and your one man campaign to keep the coffee industry solvent, we, your loving brothers and sister, and the demon brat, devised a schedule among ourselves to keep up with you and make sure you actually remember to sleep, eat and shower at least once a year, whether you need it or not. Oh, and that you’re taking your pills when you’re supposed to. You have taken your meds, right?” Jason questioned sunnily, all teeth and smugness. He knew how very much it would irritate his younger brother.

  
“I hate you” Tim replied flatly trying to absorb this piece of unexpected, uh… news. Wow. Just…wow. His siblings were taking turns playing nanny for him? Babysitting him on the sly? Stalking him for his own good? Even Cass? Et tu, Cass? For how long? To what extent? Did he need to do a sweep of his place when he finally did manage to make it home? Oh crap, was there a camera in his bedroom to monitor how much sleep he was getting? In his bathroom? Was there one in his shower?! He suppressed a slight shudder, not sure whether to be mortified or touched. Tim Drake had made his stalker bones as a kid, he knew how bad it could get. Oh, irony, thou art a cruel slut.

  
“No, you don’t” Jason retorted complacently. “You worship the ground whereupon I step. I’ll always be _your_ Robin, remember?” Tim’s brother chortled, watching his younger brother grind his teeth against Jason’s self-satisfied amusement.

  
Tim suppressed a growl, mostly. A little of it got out. A teeny tiny itty bitty little bit. Well, maybe a little more than that. Enough to egg Jason’s chuckle into an open laugh, anyway. “Jay, Fu---” he began.

**Ding**! The suite's chime sounded, interrupting him. Much classier than a knock, Tim thought. His food was here. Woo hoo! saved by the bell! "That's my room service. I'm going to go eat now! Byeeee" he sing-songed. He made to cut the phone connection.

  
“Wait, whoa, whoa, Whoa!” Jason exclaimed before Tim could hang up on him. “Don’t hang up on me, Baby Bird! I have a whole checklist! You hang up, I’ll just keep calling back. Again, and again, and again, over and over and over until I’m satisfied. And if you don’t answer” Jason’s eyes narrowed warningly, “I’m telling Alfred on you” he concluded, playing the ultimate blackmail card.

  
How is this my life, Tim groaned melodramatically. “Ugh, fine” **Ding. Ding!** The chime sounded again, a tad more impatiently. The hotel had instituted a minimum contact policy. They were still providing room service but the protocol was, they let the guest know the meal had been delivered and was waiting outside, and then backed off and waited until the requester opened the door and took it inside, then the wait staff was free to leave, having completed their appointed task. Poor guy, or woman as the case may be, probably just wanted to get off their aching feet, Tim reasoned. He could get behind that. It had been a long day for him, too. Tim slipped on his face mask while still managing the call with his brother.

  
“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties all knotted up! And leave Alfred out of this. Don’t worry him over nothing! I gotta answer the door, Jay. I’ll leave the line open, Okay? I’ll answer your stupid questions after I rescue my food from the hallway!” he huffed, phone in hand even as he reached the door and twisted the polished, curved handle.

  
Expecting only to encounter a linen covered hotel trolley bearing his dinner under a silver warming tray, and the pot of hot tea and splash of milk, not lemon( Alfred had taught him to respect the tea, thank you very much) he’d requested to accompany it, and, maybe, a member of the hotel staff standing a ways off to make sure the tray was received by the intended guest, Tim received a shock as the cracked door was shouldered open violently enough to smack him in the face and shove him backwards. His nose caught the stinging worst of it, blood splashing into the face mask, and some on to the sleeve and chest of his untucked dress shirt. With a startled yelp, his eyes watering, he rolled with the pain, experience and bat honed reflexes enabling him to regain his footing as three large, angry assailants rushed him, abruptly reducing his previously sizable suite to what now felt like a much smaller space. Correction, he recalculated. There were four of them. What was out there, he reflected dourly in the split second he had for it to matter, a damn clown car? And was the stupid thing going to keep spewing booted, leather clad killers at him until there was no more room to accommodate them? Apparently so, since a fifth man appeared just as the first hooligan aimed a cudgel at Tim’s bloodied face, now mask free after he’d ripped the ruined piece of cloth off and tossed it away.  
Tim rolled to one side, partially dodging the injurious blow, but still catching part of it with his right shoulder. It stunned, numbing the area temporarily. Years of living as a Bat saved him, muscle memory and burned in reactions filling in where logical thought feared to tread. A portion of him knew keeping his cover of the soft, pampered rich boy playing CEO of his daddy’s company was important, and he couldn’t look too capable of defending himself, but he’d have to worry about that when he was no longer in danger of getting his head bashed in, or worse. Right now, the priority was getting these guys off him. A second aggressor piled on, grabbing at Tim’s arm as their victim planted a knee in the first guy’s ribs. The man was flung back with a grunt. Red was slightly built, but stronger than he looked by far. A vicious palm strike under the chin of his second attacker left Tim free to duck the first moving back in to renew the assault.

  
Dimly, his necessarily split attention registered the fact that in another part of the room, thugs three and four were in a pitched battle with number five and losing. Huh? What?!Anomaly! Anomaly! The organic computer that doubled as Tim Drake’s mind attempted to cope with the dichotomy. What the hell? They weren’t all together? Number five was an ally? He had no more time to worry about it as the original two suite crashers jumped towards him again.

  
“Come here you little pisher” number one cursed him. “You’re worth quite a few quid to me and the one what’s paying just said to bring you alive, didn’t say nothin’ about how we couldn’t hurt you some if we needed to.” The man grinned nastily, drenching Tim with stinking breath as he leaned in.

  
Tim grasped a stubby, grimy finger, twisting and dislocating it with prejudice. He grimaced mentally. Who knew where that thing had been? It felt slimy to the touch. Bleh! His potential kidnapper (so that’s what this was, an attempted kidnapping. Typical) howled, clutching the maimed digit as he fell away in agony and surprise. Batman’s one-time protégé observed the reaction with satisfaction. Yanking a finger out of its socket was supposed to hurt, you know, if you were doing it right.

  
The second guy was back, red faced and swearing. “I’m gonna mash you, you little cunt” he vowed, the threat saturated with menace, spitting loose teeth and blood. He leapt, ready to deliver on the promise.

  
Tim stepped aside swiftly. His back hit something solid and unmoving. Discovering he’d fetched up against an indentation in the wall that held a slender wooden coat rack, he flashed his own nasty smile, part Tim Drake and part Red Robin. If they’d known what it meant to see that smile on their victim’s face, the two might have not just left off what they were trying but turned and run at that point. Many a criminal, in Arkham and on Gotham’s streets, were able to attest that look on the Red Robin meant a whole lot of hurt was about to happen for whoever was on the other end of those ice blue eyes.

  
As they charged him, Tim reached back and slightly to his left without taking his eyes off the approaching trouble. Grabbing hold of the coat rack, he shook it free of the suit jacket he’d hung on it earlier. With a ferocious step at the base, he broke off the stand. What he was left with was essentially a bo staff with protruding hooks on one end. Good enough. As thug one came within range, Tim struck savagely. In his expert hands, the formerly humble coat rack transformed into a deadly efficient weapon. The young man buried the jagged, splintered end in his opponent’s abdomen, deep, then flipped the implement to vertical, whacking the unfortunate Number One hard enough to take the man out of the fight for good. That left his pal to deal with.

  
Number Two, great, now he had Dick’s voice snickering in his head “Timmy _**you’re**_ supposed to do number two, it’s not supposed to _**do you!**_ Hahahahahaha!”. Tim loved Dick, he did, really, honest and for true, but his oldest sibling was a douche like that sometimes. Focus Drake, he chided internally. Give credit where it’s due, Tim conceded, Number Two’s mama might have raised an ugly kid,(she did, she definitely did), but the guy wasn’t completely stupid. Seeing his buddy go down, he switched tactics from a blitz to a more considered attack. Lowering his head, the man maliciously moved in on his target at a measured pace, raising the weighted blackjack gripped in one fist.

  
“You’re done, you slag” he spat, “I don’t give bollocks what my mate there got told about not breaking your pretty arse, I’m gonna hand you over to the buyer in bloody pieces” he swore.

  
“You can’t tell” Tim taunted, “but way deep down where no one can see, I’m petrified.” Red’s predatory grin spread. He readied his defense. And stuck his tongue out. Sue him, he did it, and he was glad. Ok, so maybe Dick wasn’t the only one who could be a juvenile douche on occasion.

  
Snarling like Jason in the throes of pit rage, Two (everybody called him Mics cause comics were all he ever read ) closed in, fully aware now that his “client’s” contention that the man he and his compatriots had been sent to kidnap would be a tosser was untrue. No easy meat, this one. The little sod managed to drop Gerry and old Gerry was one of the toughest blokes Mics knew. He moved in careful like, ready to finish this. Weapon raised for a head wallop, he switched to the knees at the last second, trying for tricky. Hard and sure, that’ll do for ‘im, he thought towards his target. Take ‘im out at the knees and then a knock on the head and this cock-up’s over and done. Simple, right?

  
Wrong, ‘Mics. So very, very wrong. So very, very, painfully wrong. The sudden move at his vulnerable kneecaps, was, in Tim’s alter ego’s professional opinion, clumsy as hell. The guy’s whole body telegraphed his next move. The leaded club missed entirely as Tim jumped, bending his legs backwards. At the same time, Red whipped his makeshift bo around in a lightning move, jabbing Two hard in the ribs as he came down and then striking his assailant’s wrist, fracturing it and eliciting a bellow of pure misery from the afflicted Mics. Dropping his weapon from nerveless fingers, Mics was completely unable to prevent, and mostly unaware of what happened next. Tim leapt, spun, anchored his right leg against the wall and twisted the erstwhile coat rack in the air, bringing it down brutally across the back of Number Two’s fat head. Mics went down like a KO’d boxer. Done.

  
All during the scrap with Number Two, Tim’s mind had remained remotely aware that Numbers Three, Four and Five had yet to join the fight against him. That was fortunate, since even with his enhanced skills he might have had more than a little trouble dealing with all four (five?) at once. He would have but was relieved to find out that it was not going to come to that. Three and Four were already unconscious and drooling stupidly into the luxurious deep pile carpeting of the posh suite’s main room, bruises and bloody faces evidence of the recent beat down they’d both suffered ostensibly at the hands of the pleasantly smiling Five.

  
Genius, Big Brain. Some heroes continued to refer to him as the Smart Robin long after he’d become Red. Well, except for Jason, who still called him Replacement sometimes ‘cause he knew how much it rankled his brother. For all that, Jason respected how sharp Tim was. Even Ra’s Al Ghul (Uugghh!) referred to him as “Detective” (double Uugghh!) in that oily tone that always made Tim’s skin want to crawl off his body and run off to hide in a closet. Cape, mask or cowl, they did not hesitate to call on his services at solving a mystery when the Batman was otherwise engaged. His civilian persona garnered equal respect from most people.

  
As twice blest as he was in the brains department, Tim still did not know what to make of the sight of the remainder of the four men who’d been sent to capture him lying senseless at the feet of this stranger. Come to think of it, RR realized, everything about number Five was different, from the smile and guileless blue eyes that reminded Tim uncannily of Dick Grayson to what he recognized, thanks again to Alfred’s training, as the wearing of what was undeniably a very well made bespoke suit, navy blue with nearly invisible pinstripes. Clearly not an enemy, but unable able to be classed, so far, as a friendly, Tim remained on guard as the man approached.

  
“Right then” the sandy haired young man began, body language deliberately calibrated to signal he was not a threat, “they sent me to give you hand with these blighters” he continued amusedly, “but it looks like you’d have done alright for yourself even if I hadn’t shown!” Still smiling, he started forward, right hand extended, mindful of Tim’s continued wariness.  
“Proper name’s Gary Unwin” he introduced himself. “But please, call me Eggsy.”  
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR


	2. I'd Look Back, But the Crazy Might Be Gaining on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all, and poor Tim's still got coffee on his mind.

**Part 2** \- **I’d Look Back, But I Think the Crazy Might Be Gaining on Me**

“Tim! Tim!! Answer me Tim!! **TIM!!!** Damn it, Tim, answer me right now, or I swear I’m gonna kick your ass!” Jason screamed into his phone. The unpleasant thought that Tim might already be in the process of getting his ass kicked hovered nauseously on the perimeter of his consciousness. Damn, but that had gone tits up in a New York minute, yeah? One second he’s yanking his younger brother’s chain, and loving it, the next, as far as he can tell, Tim’s phone gets knocked out of his hand and Jason’s overhearing long distance what sounds like Tim embroiled in a win or die fight with multiple attackers. 

“ **Tim, ANSWER ME!** ” Jason yelled, helpless. He swore sulfuriously. After getting jarred from his hand, Tim’s phone landed face down in whatever corner it had been kicked into, so Jason had audio only, no visuals. He got only grunts, cursing and the sounds of a pretty ugly fight. He paced, agitated, pounding the kitchen table in frustration, just missing the delicate tea service Alfred always left in place ready for the family’s daily use.

“Master Jason!” Alfred’s astonished voice interrupted his frantic, angry queries to his brother in London. “Whatever is the matter?” asked the man who was virtually Jason’s grandfather. “has Master Timothy encountered some sort of difficulty?” the elderly butler asked, alarmed.

“That’s what I’d like to know” came the baritone rumble of Bruce Wayne. Jason looked up to see his periodically estranged adopted father, fresh from a sparring session clad in sweats in the kitchen’s wide doorway. Thick towel wrapped around his broad shoulders and his eyes narrowed as he awaited his second son’s reply. The demon bra-uh, his youngest brother, Damian, stood in their father’s wake, familiar scowl in place.

“Yes, Todd, do tell us, what debacle has Drake managed to land himself in the midst of now?” Damian demanded in clipped tones Although the words were spoken with the boy’s usual nose in the air attitude, they lacked the venom that would have been present in days past. Slowly, over time, Bruce’s two youngest sons had achieved a guarded tolerance for each other. It was not affection, yet, but at the very least, the youngest Wayne had stopped trying to murder Tim or bloodily injure him, much to Tim and the rest of the family’s considerable relief. Damian occasionally (very occasionally), managed to speak about and to Tim with reluctant respect and Tim stopped referring to Damian as Hell’s intern. So, progress.

Suddenly Jason had three pairs of eyes glaring at him, well two pairs were glaring. The third, Alfred’s, displayed anxiety.

“Well, Jason? Is Tim in some sort of trouble?” Bruce demanded, Batman rising.

Like if he is, it’s somehow my fault, Jason thought, indignant. How could it possibly be _my_ fault? Damn Bruce. He felt his temper slipping.

“That’s what I’m trying…” he began, voice raised. He took a deep breath. Get a grip Jason. Now’s not the time. Also, he and the boss Bat had a prickly relationship, but it _was_ evolving. Mostly out of deference to Alfred, he started over. “That’s what I’m trying to find out” he finished much more calmly. 

“Master Bruce” Alfred addressed his employer and emotional son, “perhaps we should give Master Jason a chance to explain.” Alfred, ever the peacemaker of the family, and its most effective one.

A brusque nod accompanied Bruce’s concession to the man who’d raised him from childhood. “You’re right Alfred. Jason, just tell us what you do know” Bruce said, voice more moderate than before, trying to curb his worry with his customary discipline.

Jason did.

**RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR**

_As twice blest as he was in the brains department, Tim still did not know what to make of the sight of the remainder of the four men who’d been sent to capture him lying senseless at the feet of this stranger. Come to think of it, RR realized, everything about number Five was different, from the smile and guileless blue eyes that reminded Tim uncannily of Dick Grayson to what he recognized, thanks again to Alfred’s training, as the wearing of what was undeniably a very well made bespoke suit, navy blue with nearly invisible pinstripes. Clearly not an enemy, but unable able to be classed, so far, as a friendly, Tim remained on guard as the man approached._

_“Right then” the sandy haired young man began, body language deliberately calibrated to signal he was not a threat, “they sent me to give you hand with these blighters” he continued amusedly, “but it looks like you’d have done alright for yourself even if I hadn’t shown!” Still smiling, he started forward, right hand extended, mindful of Tim’s continued wariness._

_“Proper name’s Gary Unwin” he introduced himself. “But please, call me Eggsy.”_

The words hung in the air, silence filling the space between Tim and the man who’d given him the unlikely moniker of “Eggsy”. Tim tilted his head sideways, taking a step backwards to maintain distance. 

Noting the defensive tactic, “Eggsy” Unwin stopped and raised both hands, palms facing Tim and fingers spread. “I’m on your side, Mr. Wayne” he volunteered softly, the friendly smile firmly affixed. “I was sent to prevent this” he jutted his chin at the black and blue crowd decorating the floor in staggered stages of dazed and confused. “Um, excuse me” Eggsy broke off. He stepped to where one former combatant was starting to revive a little too much, lifted the man’s head and banged it sharply against the nearest wall, sending the recipient back into a mostly unconscious state.

“I didn’t get here quite in time” he stated with an apologetic shrug, “but I’m glad I arrived when I did. Although it appears you did have matters well in hand.”

Tim lowered but didn’t drop his makeshift bo. “Sent you? Who sent you? And how did you know who I am and where to find me?” he demanded, still keyed up. Just because Mr. Dress for Success had assisted in fighting off the latest kidnap attempt against him didn’t necessarily rank the other man with the white hats. Tim wasn’t a Bat for nothing, and this wouldn’t be the first time a second threat to his safety had helped vanquish the first in order to clear the field.

“My superiors sent me” Eggsy supplied unhelpfully. The smile went away but the friendly look remained. “I assure you, I’m a friend, not an enemy.” He paused to take in the trashed hotel suite and bevy of banged up thugs. “I’d suggest, however, that we, uh, contain these chaps before they can get up to any more mischief, eh?”

With that, Unwin drew a zip tie from his jacket pocket and moved to restrain one of the men lying face down on the floor. He tossed several close to where Tim had straightened out of a protective crouch. Keeping the ruined coat rack well within reach, Tim followed the unspoken suggestion and began zip tying the hands and feet of Mics and number one.

“Heads up Mr. Wayne” came a soft word of warning from Eggsy. Tim turned to see… a small roll of duct tape land by his right foot. Taking the hint, he picked it up and tore off a strip, which he then plastered none to gently over Mics big mouth. He repeated the process with One.

“It’s your city, so what next?” Tim asked, choosing to get off the dime. The thick walls and roomy environment mostly likely muffled the sound of a violent scuffle, but it was a safe bet at least one of the other guests on the floor had heard enough of the fight to result in a call to hotel security, which was probably on the way. They’d show masked and gloved, but they’d show, and pretty soon. He’d decided to trust his capable new acquaintance for now. If it blew up on him, well, he’d gotten out of worse. Not easily, but he had.

“I suggest we get our story straight for the security blokes that are about to come bursting thru the door” Eggsy responded, evidently having come to the same conclusion as Tim.

“No story needed on my part” Tim told him tartly. “They were here to kidnap me, not sure for who or why. That’s what I going to tell hotel security and the police.” He was suddenly very weary as recent events caught up to him. He uprighted a chair and slumped into it. “What I’m not sure of is how I’m supposed to explain you” he said, giving Unwin a pointed look. “I’m not sure how to explain you to myself.”

“No worries, guv” Eggsy’s eyes danced. Tim tensed as Unwin reached a hand inside the jacket of his expensive suit and emerged with a square of folded black leather, which he sent sailing in Tim’s direction.

Tim picked it up. Opening it, the Wayne CEO was confounded to see the credentials of an MI-5 agent. Yeah….No, nuh uh. The other man might have just helped pull Tim’s nuts out of the grinder and proclaimed to be a friend, but if Eggsy Unwin was MI-5, Tim Drake was the love child of Harvey Two-Face and Oswald Cobblepot. He had to give it to the other man, though, these credentials looked like the real deal. Close enough to escape all but the most careful examination. Now how in hell did you get a set of these, he wondered, training his own laser focused gaze on Eggsy.

All the pieces slid into place with an audible **_click_** in Tim’s agile brain. Kingsman. Gary “Eggsy” Unwin was a freaking Kingsman! The bespoke suit, ass-kicking prowess, flawlessly forged credentials, not to mention the impeccable timing earlier, it all added up. Yes, Red Robin knew about Kingsman. All the bats did. Alfred again. Don’t ask. Really, don’t ask. Then kind, genteel Alfred would not have to find it needful to violate Batman’s edict against killing. But yeah, the Batman and all the satellite bats were read in on Kingsman.

Tim succeeded in not letting the realization show on his face. He didn’t know if the reverse was true and Kingsman knew who his family was behind their masks, but he did know the organization protected knowledge of its existence like Bruce guarded the location of the Batcave.

His ears recorded the faint ding of the elevator at the end of the long corridor. Eggsy Unwin’s head turned correspondingly. He’d heard it too. Security and the police were here. Yay.

“TIM! TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE WAYNE, YOU DICKWAD, ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!!” Jason’s voice was tinny thru the cell phone’s speakers, but the pissed off yet worried vibe still came thru loud and clear.

“Ah, hell!” Tim swore. He’d forgotten all about being on the phone with his older brother in Gotham. He hadn’t hung up, and they’d been facetiming, which meant Jason heard everything, the fight, the works. Double damn, damn, damn it! He dived for the device, which somehow escaped the carnage completely unscathed. Huh. No nicks, no marks, not even a scratched screen. Now that’s good workmanship, he reflected, impressed.

“Jason, Jay? I’m fine, I’m OK, calm down, I’m Ok” Tim babbled hurriedly after scooping up the phone. “I’m good, I’m not hurt” he strove to soothe Jason’s frenetic concerns.

“What the hell is going on there, Tim?! What happened?! And don’t you say nothing! I got ears, I can hear! What happened?” Jason demanded, still riled up.

Deep breaths, Tim, he told himself. Deep cleansing breaths. In and out. In and out. Just keep breathing. In and out.

“Jay” he started slowly, deep cleansing breaths Tim, in and out, in and out. “I really am ok, no harm, but I’ll have to call you back” he stated as the room began filling up again, this time with hotel security and sharp eyed uniformed constables full of questions.

“No! Tim, don’t you hang up on me!” Jason insisted hotly. “Don’t you dare hang up on me! Bruce is standing right here and Alfred and Damian too! Don’t you hang up on me! Travel restrictions or no, you hang up on me, I’ll fly there and put my foot straight up your skinny ass!” Jason promised, incensed.

Tim hung up on him and turned to deal with the new arrivals.

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How is this my life? Tim Wayne was asking himself for the second time in less than four hours. ( **You know very well how, _Mr. Batman needs a Robin)_ **a sarcastic voice that sounded suspiciously like Steph for some reason snarked in his head. Shut it he told Stephvoice, I’m busy. Crouched next to a wounded Egssy Unwin in a filthy alley in London’s east end, surrounded by, he was sure, enough germs and bacteria to make the Coronavirus run home screaming for it’s mama. With his screwed up immune system. And none of the masks, filters or body armor that came along with Red Robin’s normal nightwear. In a locked down city. Thousands of miles from home. If he lived thru this, Bruce was going to quarantine him until hell froze over, thawed and then refroze. 

Holed up in the Wayne family’s private quarters in the Dorchester he was mostly protected from COVID-19 or any other microscopic hazard to his health. But he wasn’t there now, was he? Tim cursed maliciously enough to make Jason proud and turned to check his companion. The bullet wound in Eggsy’s shoulder, a thru and thru, was no longer bleeding thanks to Tim’s ministrations. Fringe benefits of his night job. Working alongside Alfred for years had transformed all of the clan into expert field medics. The bullet in the Kingsman’s side was another story. The damn thing was still inside its intended victim, lodged fortunately, as far as Tim could make out, in the fleshy part of Eggsy’s right side. No vital organs damaged, (Tim hoped). The main problem was that there wasn’t a lot of flesh to absorb the damage. Like any good Kingsman, Gary “Eggsy” Unwin was in superb condition. One percent body fat and all that. No cushion for bullet wounds. Plus, getting shot frickin’ hurt like hell. Tim knew that from painful personal experience. His own most likely fractured elbow bone (“it’s properly known as the olecranon, Master Timothy” Alfred’s voice lectured in his head) pinged. He set the pain aside. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

“How are you making out?” he asked Eggsy as he gently probed the wounds, checking on his hasty repair work. So far, so good. Everything looked to be holding up for now, but they really needed to get out of this alley and to some righteous medical care, and proper hygienic containment, for both their sakes.

“Ah, no problem mate” Eggsy flashed a weaker version of his cocky grin. “I’ll live. You’ll see. Be right as rain in no time at all once I get this bit of nasty out of me” Unwin stated, gesturing at his sluggishly seeping side.

“Yeah, sure thing” Tim agreed, strategizing while they talked. One thing about Tim, his plans had plans. Always. Where was the help they’d called for during the midst of their flight from the hotel? Unwin’s people should have found them by now, so, where were they? If they didn’t show soon, Tim was taking matters back into his own hands. In and out. In and out. Deep cleansing breaths.

Noting the other’s continued scrutiny of the alley’s mouth, Unwin spoke up. “I think we lost ‘em” Eggsy huffed with satisfaction, meaning their pursuers.

“For now,” Drake-Wayne agreed. “But we can’t count on that to last. We need to move soon. Get someplace safe, or at least safer than this. And you’re still bleeding. You need a real doctor. My patch job isn’t going to hold for much longer” Tim told him factually.

Adapting on the fly was something he excelled at, but this night was testing him! Tim was starting to feel as if he’d been sucked thru the funhouse doors and any second now Joker and his band of crazy clown groupies were going to spring up full blown from between the cracked brickwork in the alley and join the party. And to think, after the hotel’s private uniformed security and the police showed up in his suite, he foolishly thought the worst to be behind him. Hah! That’s what you get for thinking, you moron! Deep cleansing breaths dude, he chanted silently. In and out. In and out. He though back over the insane last couple of hours. 

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_Dealing with the security guys and the cops went about as well as Tim had expected it to. The head of hotel security, a florid, wheezy man by the name of Malcolm Greenly, greeted Tim and Eggsy suspiciously. The man seemed to be of the opinion that it was Tim’s fault that he’d been the object of a kidnap attempt._

_“Things of this nature simply do not happen at the Dorchester, sir!” Greenly bristled. “They just burst in and tried to abduct you?? Hah! And exactly why would that be, Mister Drake-Wayne!? He questioned, giving Tim’s hyphenated surname an insulting lilt. “What type of business would you have in London, especially at this particular time, in the middle of a pandemic, no less, that would attract that lot?” He motioned over his shoulder at the group of semi-conscious hoodlums being taken into custody. Greenly threw Tim a look that was meant to be intimidating. Instead, it came off petty and stupid, particularly with just his eyes showing. The way the man puffed out his chest reminded Tim of a little dog trying to look tough in a room full of Rottweilers._

_Yeah, okay, this one’s a doofus, Tim thought privately. He considered pinning this jerk with a bat-glare but reigned in the impulse in time. This mook was an idiot and not worth it and besides, Tim was **way** too tired to suffer fools right now. He just wanted this day to be over! He needed food, sleep and coffee, not necessarily in that order. And he really needed to talk to his family. Jason must be ready to hot-wire the bat jet by now, he worried._

_In and out, he thought, In and out. Just breathe, Tim reminded himself, running thru the meditative mental exercises he’d learned as an apprentice Robin. “I assure you, Mr. Greenly” he began, trying to hold on to the ragged remains of the manners ruthlessly drilled into him by Janet Drake and refined by Alfred Pennyworth, “my business here on behalf of Wayne Enterprises is completely legitimate ---”_

_Before Tim could continue, activity at the door drew all eyes in that direction. Two men with badges clipped to the breast pockets of their dark suits entered, edging past the uniformed officers escorting the four ruffians out._

_“Mr. Timothy Drake-Wayne?” the taller of the pair questioned politely, surveying the other occupants of the room. Like the rest, the men were masked and gloved. The new entrants smartly kept a COVID-19 appropriate six feet of distance._

_“That’s me” Tim volunteered, declining to close the gap and shake hands. No one objected._

_“And who might you be?” The second detective addressed Eggsy Unwin._

_“MI-5” Unwin supplied with a faint upward lift of his mouth, dialing back the pseudo charm he’d used on Tim after the fight._

_The information garnered a surprised reaction from the Scotland Yard cops and from Malcolm Greenly. Privately, Tim thought the cops appeared more skeptical than surprised, but maybe that was just him._

_“MI-5? What’s bleedin’ MI-5 got to do with anything?” the hotel security man interjected shrilly. They weren’t going to shut him out. He’d already been forced to leave his second in the corridor. The Dorchester was **his** bailiwick. He’d take the lead in sorting this mess, not jumped up Scotland Yard. He didn’t care for those blokes, thanks all the same. In his opinion, they thought way too much of themselves. He didn’t like them in much the same way he was put off by that costumed freak show in Gotham City in the United States. A fully grown man dressing as a bat and traipsing across rooftops, taking it upon himself to beat up the criminal element. And the man had recruited others to do the same! Some of them children by the looks of it! Outrageous! And another thing, Greenly didn’t trust the alleged “victim”, especially when that victim was one of the ultra-wealthy…that little posh was hiding something, Malcolm was sure of it. What it was he didn’t know, but as sure as his mother-in-law was a nagging shrew, it was there. Mr. Timothy Drake-Wayne was much too collected for someone who’d just been subjected to a violent assault. And now MI-5 is involved. What a load o’ tosh!_

_“Thank you for all your help, Mr. Greenly” Inspector Tom Masterson spoke before Eggsy was able to respond. “We’ll take over from here. Should the investigation require your further assistance, I assure you we’ll not hesitate to contact you.” It was clearly a dismissal._

_At a nod from Masterson the security chief was seized by the elbow and escorted out of the suite by the remaining uniformed officer. Before he had a chance to object, Greenly was on the outside, staring gobsmacked at a firmly closed door. He fought the inclination to pound on the wooden barrier and demand to be let back in. Being kicked out of the crime scene like a little boy being banished to the children’s table was embarrassment enough. Red faced and furious, he tugged the lapels of his fine wool uniform jacket and turned on his heel. The nerve of those, those…policemen! The Dorchester’s management would have something to say about this!_

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_“I must say, Mr. Drake-Wayne” offered Masterson’s partner, Inspector Ellis Smith, “You seem to be coping remarkably well with, um, well, what’s transpired here. Not to disparage, but most people of your station would be a bit more rattled by being set upon in their hotel room by a group of criminals.”_

_“My station?” Tim questioned. “Oh, you mean because I’m one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. Inspector, it’s because of Bruce that I was able to defend myself so well. I know he comes off as an airhead playboy, and well, he kinda is most of the time.” Sorry Bruce, he apologized in his head, “but he lives in the real world enough to know that sometimes it can get pretty ugly. I travel frequently on WE business and going everywhere with bodyguards gets old real fast. So, he’s kind of insisted that all his kids have self-defense training. You know, for when sh-uh, things like this happen. Besides” have your story straight Unwin, cause here it comes, Tim thought in the other’s direction, “MI-5” he pointed at Eggsy with his thumb, “came to my rescue.”_

_That switched the pair’s attention from him to Eggsy Unwin very effectively, Red Robin noted with no small amount of relief. He needed a little breather from all the intense scrutiny. Also, he really, really needed to call home! He knew his family. They were probably going nuts by now, especially Jason. He’d need to talk them down, and quickly, or Bruce would descend on London in full Batman mode and most likely bring a good portion of the family with him, Coronavirus or not. His fingers itched to reach for the phone in his pants pocket. The only problem was, he couldn’t really have that conversation in front of his present company and excusing himself to make the call would refocus too much unwanted attention. Damn! Was it too much to ask for them all to JUST GO AWAY!!!! UUGGGHH! **AND WOULD SOMEBODY PLEASE BRING HIM A FRICKIN’ CUP OF COFFEE?!**_

_“Why **are** you here, sir?” Smith asked Eggsy Unwin, “What is MI-5’s role in any of this? Were your chaps aware that there would be an attempt to take Mr. Wayne? If so, how? You don’t normally concern yourselves with domestic abductions, even of the wealthy. Why this one?” The questions came rapid fire. If it was an attempt to throw Eggsy off balance, it failed. The undercover Kingsman remained infuriatingly balanced. Eggsy had had plenty of practice at frustrating the police, from well before he’d ever heard of the secret agency which now held his allegiance. He found this clumsy attempt to knock him off his pins rather amusing but did his best not to let it show. _

_“Sorry gents” Eggsy answered. He was not sorry, not even a little, but Arthur (Harry Hart) head of the newly rebuilt Kingsman organization, preferred his agents to make nice with the locals when unable to avoid dealing with them altogether. Still, didn’t mean he could give away the soddin’ store. “I’m not really authorized to answer that. I have my orders. I’m sure you can understand.” Unwin tried hard (not) to look regretful, giving them his “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you” look, the one he practiced on his wife Tilde from time to time. It always made her giggle uncontrollably._

_The badges weren’t laughing, Masterson’s mouth thinning as he pressed his lips tightly together. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to finish all this up at our offices” he suggested grimly. He’d phrased it as a suggestion, but the tone made it more of an order. His eyes said that maybe he rather hoped Eggsy would continue to push back. Cuffing an MI-5 man would give him bragging rights amongst his peers for years._

_Unwin glanced at Tim. Tim shrugged. He was exhausted and sore from the fight, but whatever. Let’s get it over said RR’s return look. The sooner he was done with all this, the sooner he could come back here and start socially distancing his head off again. All he wanted from the rest of this night was to make his call, grab a coffee, a screaming hot shower and fall into bed. He’d deal with the who and why of the kidnap plot in the morning._

_Soon enough, he and Unwin were walking with the Scotland Yard detectives past the aggrieved faces of Malcom Greenly and the Dorchester’s manager and thru the ornate front entrance of the hotel. A large black sedan waited for them. Smith opened the rear door, inviting first Eggsy then Tim into the car. The Inspectors got into the front, Smith started the car, and they were away._

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_Road hum and the warmth of the big car’s interior lulled Tim halfway to sleep. He barely noticed light from the streetlamps coming in the windows as the sedan glided thru virtually deserted streets. Like one string of a violin, however, a slender part of him remained alert. Maybe it was that he was too tired to totally relax, maybe adrenaline runoff, maybe too many days of Gotham nights. No matter. Years of living in the shadow of Bruce’s paranoia had taught Tim to respect the feeling. His eyes were closed, and limbs loosely sprawled across the back seat. The point being, while Red looked to be sleeping, he was not._

_The left side passenger seat in the back put Eggsy in a perfect position to keep an eye on the rest of the car’s occupants. Tim Wayne, he noted, appeared to well on the way to nodding off, but Eggsy figured the man had earned the right to nick a few extra winks. Eggsy was wide awake. Kingsman didn’t pay him to sleep, now did they? Young Drake-Wayne’s safety remained his job, and a Kingsman always took his work seriously. As Unwin noted the various landmarks of the city he knew so well drifting by, he tensed internally. He did know London and if they were headed for Scotland Yard, then Smith was going the wrong way!_

_Everything seemed to happen at once. Eggsy registered Masterson pointing and firing a gun at his face at the exact same time Tim Wayne exploded into action, kicking at Masterson’s arm. Smith shouted and the car swerved, throwing all four of the men inside around like pinballs. Masterson kept firing, bullets ping ponging around the confined space. Eggsy grunted in pain as one of the wild slugs buried itself in his right shoulder, somehow finding a way around the Kevlar lining of his jacket and another plowed thru the customized protection to end up in his right side. Eggsy grabbed the wrist holding the gun in both his own and twisted._

_Smith slewed the car around, trying to assist his partner and drive at the same time, but had Tim to contend with as Tim jabbed him savagely in the head with an elbow, driving the detective’s head forward to slam into the steering wheel. Blood poured out and Smith gave a yelp of shocked pain. Tim was so done! Now the effing cops were trying to kill him? What the hell was that about? Enough. Time to end this. Leaving Masterson to Eggsy Unwin, Red deployed his compact size to his advantage, raised up, leaned back as far as possible, braced his left arm against the rear seat head rest, and kicked Smith in the head, hard, rendering his target unconscious. The driverless vehicle plowed forward out of control. Tim saw the large mass of wrought iron and concrete barriers that framed the uninhabited square looming but was powerless to prevent the collision. “Unwin!” he yelled, trying to give the other man some sort of notice of what was about to happen. Then it was time to duck and cover_

_Griping Masterson’s wrist expertly to prevent being shot a third time, Eggsy’s head snapped up at Tim’s shouted warning in time to see the approaching crash. His eyes widened. “Shite!” he yelled, releasing Masterson and rolling into a tight ball next to Wayne, behind the front seat, trying to make himself small._

_Masterson turned around exactly at the wrong time and tried to protect his face by throwing his arms up in front of him. It didn’t help._

**_CRASH!!!!_ ** _The world splintered into a tornado of shattering glass and twisted metal._

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“B, I promise I’m not hurt” Tim sought to reassure his stressed- out family members from long distance. “the whole thing is fu-freaking bananas!” he modified his language, mindful of Alfred also listening on the other end of his call. The cell phone in his hand, a durable little bit of WE technology (when he got home, he was going to see about arranging a raise for the tech guys) was proving a life- line.

Tim huddled in the alley next to the injured Kingsman, exhaling as he ran a tired hand thru his hair. He listened for a moment, then, “I know Ra’s is in London, Bruce. This wasn’t him, either time.” It had taken all of his considerable skill with words to talk his father and brothers from flying across thousands of miles of ocean after filling them in on the separate attacks. He listened further. “This wasn’t about him… he’s not going to try and snatch me in the middle of a global pandemic” he broke off as Bruce interrupted him. Tim could hear Jason erupt loudly in the background.

“Babybird, get your ass home right now!” his older brother demanded, frustrated at Bruce denying him the opportunity to yell at Tim firsthand.

“You can’t know that for sure, Tim. Ra’s doesn’t follow any normal rules of behavior, particularly when it comes to you, you know that…,” Bruce objected, “Jason, let me handle this!” He tried to calm his second son. Ra’s Al Ghul. The evil immortal’s obsession with Tim made Bruce’s psyche roil, particularly because he was unable to do anything to stop it. “This is exactly the type of scenario he’d be inclined to take advantage of. With you there in London, isolated from the family, from backup, with everyone worried about COVID-19 and most of the city locked down. He’d absolutely try to use this to get what he wants, which in this case happens to be you. I’m sure he believes the Lazarus Pits conveys immunity from the effects of Coronavirus, and he’s probably correct. It’ll make him even more inclined to take the chance. Look, son, you’ve finished the WE business you went there to handle, and you already told me you’ve tested negative. I really want you back in Gotham right now where you can be quarantined and safe!” Bruce insisted. “Please Tim” he emphasized, “I, we’d all feel so much better if you’d come home, now!” He stopped just short of making it an order. Not that he had any power to enforce it with Tim so far away.

“Drake, you are causing the family unnecessary worry, especially father and Pennyworth!” Damian evidently felt compelled to contribute his two cents, Tim laughed silently, shaking his head.

“Tell the brat I said I love him too” Tim requested of his father. “Look, B, I did test negative, but I really like to give it a couple more days to be sure. I’ve got to be certain, especially with Alfred, you know? I get that you’re all worried, I do, and with Ra’s running around, I know that just makes it worse, but I…” Tim halted as a car with it’s lights off slowly pulled into the dead end alley, cutting off he and Eggys’s only easy exit.

“Gotta go B, calvary’s here” he informed his dad slowly, trying to sound calm and not alarm his relatives further. He ended the call over Bruce’s shouted objections and stood, helping Unwin to his feet. He hoped these were the good guys. If this wasn’t Kingsman, they were officially screwed. Doors opened and two men emerged. Eggsy tensed then relaxed as the men came closer.

“Tell me, Eggsy” came the sardonic voice of Harry Hart, “Do you lie awake nights thinking of ways to cause me indigestion, or do you make it up as the day passes on?”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea! our heroes are saved! At least for now (cackles in fiendish glee). The Batfamily are back, too! Some of them anyway. Also, a couple of characters I forgot to list in the tags, Oracle and Merlin begin to appear in the next chapter which will not be posted until sometime next week. Posting this one due to the holiday. Hope you are spending it with those you love, preferably in a safe, socially distant ZOOM call or whatever the equivalent is where you live. Wishing everyone a Christmas of peace and harmony. Give love and it will come back to you.


	3. I Knew It Was You All Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions are made, alliances are formed and some people find out just how screwed they actually are.

RR and Eggsy Vs. The COVID-19 Slimeapaloozites- Part 3- I Knew It Was You All Along

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“Welcome, Mr. Wayne” said Harry Hart. The glass walled room that separated Harry from the younger man he was addressing was one part of a small but comprehensive medical unit easily rivaling the one in the Batcave. Upon their arrival, Eggsy Unwin had been rushed inside. A veteran of missions gone pear shaped, Tim was relieved the agent was finally in capable hands.

The med bay he was in made him think of his grandfather. Wish you were here, Alfie, Tim considered briefly, looking around. You’d love this. You’d feel right at home. A sharp pang of longing for the old man’s comforting presence lanced thru him.

“Perhaps you’d like to be addressed as Mr. Drake-Wayne” Harry’s voice continued pleasantly, “or would you prefer Red Robin?” Hart asked levelly.

Tim was so worn down, he was only listening with half an ear, so it took a few seconds for Harry Hart’s words to land, then they did. Well, turds on toast. Bruce was gonna love this.

Red’s entire body stood on end, but if the other man was expecting Tim to freak out, nope, nu uh. Not gonna happen for ya. Forget Batman, life with Jack and Janet Drake had made him tougher than that. So much for that question, Tim concluded. If Kingsman knew who he was in his other life, that meant they knew who the Dark Knight and the rest of the bat clan were too. Heaving a mental sigh, he shrugged. Ok, fine. Cards on the table worked for him. Might as well lean all the way in. Let’s see how you like it, he thought.

“So, Kingsman knows who we are” Tim said, pausing to gauge the reaction. The recently ascended Arthur’s flinch was infinitesimal, but the Wayne CEO caught it all the same. He wasn’t as adept at reading body language as his sister, no one was, but he did alright. His cobalt blue eyes met Hart’s calmly.

Tim stretched out on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. “At least you don’t expect me to fall for that whole MI-5 bit like Unwin did” he smirked. “MI-5” he scoffed. “Pfftt.” He went back to smirking. Tim was a really good smirker.

“I’m not sure which is more to be admired” Harry told him, recovering quickly. “Bruce Wayne’s acting skills or his resources.”

“Dude” Tim felt obligated to point out, “he’s a multibillionaire. Also, you know, he’s Batman.” The last two words were delivered with his mentor’s throaty growl. “Anyways, like I said to your guy earlier, it’s your city, so what next?” he asked expectantly.

“For the short term, nothing” Harry answered congenially. “Eggsy’s in no shape for ‘next’ and won’t be for some time. And I believe you might also benefit from a little of what you Americans like to call down time.” Hart issued the briefest of smiles. “The world finds itself faced with a unique set of challenges and it bears remembering that the Coronavirus is no respecter of persons, Mr. Wayne. I believe a few days in a sterile environment is not only warranted but an excellent idea for both of you. In addition, it will give you another chance to contact your father. He’s most likely quite anxious to hear from you. I’m sure you’ll want to do your best to put his mind at ease. Not to worry” he told Tim reassuringly, “Kingsman is not without considerable resources of our own, even in times such as these. Have a good night, Mr. Wayne.” Hart gave one final little wave and turned to walk away.

Tim knocked on the window to stop the Kingsman head’s departure. “if I’m going to call home, I’ll need my phone” he pointed out.

Harry nodded. “Of course” he agreed. The Kingsman techs should be finished and have the device back together by now. “I’ll see to it. Good night” he repeated and left.

The man would be back in the morning, Tim knew. That was going to be one very interesting discussion. Tim found he was looking forward to it.

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That, Tim observed, smothering a grin while studying the face of his adopted father as they facetimed, is not a happy man. Bruce Wayne’s stony countenance stared back at him, mouth an angry slash in the square jawed face. Tim knew Bruce wasn’t really pissed at him, he was just the most convenient target. Jason wasn’t the only one in the family who had issues with expressing emotions, but his brother and father each dealt with it in different ways. Jason liked to beat people up or make things go **BOOM**! Bruce held it all in, stubbornly denying the feelings, tried to suppress them, as if that would make them magically disappear. And he brooded. Jeez, did he brood. Once, after a fight between Dick and Bruce, Tim had gone down to the cave to find the Batman actually hunkered down in a murky corner, and, well, Tim didn’t like to use the word, but it had looked for all the world as if the man was pouting. Yep, The Vengeance of the Night, scourge of criminals everywhere and the Protector of Gotham was squatting in a dark nook in the Batcave, wrapped up in his cape, trying hard to stare a hole thru the craggy walls. Tim had backed soundlessly up the stairs, exiting thru the grandfather clock access and continued out of the Manor until he’d reached his motorcycle parked out front. He wanted no part of whatever the problem was between his father and eldest brother. Nada, nope, no, and hell no!

“You’re not injured, you’re in quarantine now, and you’re going to be retested to make sure you haven’t been exposed? That you’re alright?” Bruce questioned. Tim let the surly tone roll right off. Surly was Bruce’s love language.

“Yeah, B, I am, and they have a top- notch medical set up here. Alfred would love it, really. I mean, it’s not the Batcave and there’s no Alf, so, there’s that, but the docs got it together. They know their stuff. You don’t have to worry. I’m in good hands with, um, you know, these people.” He avoided using the name Kingsman during a cell phone call. Hopefully, it was secure, but anything could be hacked. He should know.

“You can’t be certain of that, Tim. You don’t know them, and I certainly hope I don’t have to warn you not to trust them. Hart came right out and told you they know your alter ego, which means they most likely know the rest. That means they know a lot more than I’m comfortable with” Bruce groused.

There it is, Tim thought. The real reason for his father’s foul mood. Bruce and his sister wives, Paranoia and Secrecy. Not that it wasn’t justified given that he was the Batman, but still…

“If it makes you feel any better, B, I showed them mine after they showed me theirs” he told Bruce. “They weren’t anymore thrilled about it than you are.”

“Well I don’t know about B” Jason contributed acidly over their father’s shoulder, “but it sure as hell, sorry Alfie, don’t do nothin’ for me!” his brother yelled. “I repeat, Baby Bird, you need to get your bony ass back on home ground now! And B’s right, and now look what you made me do, I’m agreeing with Bruce! Happy, yeah? Come home!!”

“Jason, this isn’t helping! If you can’t calm down, then leave!” Bruce commanded.

“Old man” Jason sneered, “trying to tell me what to do isn’t going to work any better for you this time than it ever does! And that’s my phone! I’m not going anywhere!” Jason’s frayed temper sounded very close to snapping.

Alfred sagely chose that instant to intervene once more. “Master Jason” The elder stateman’s calm voice was like aloe applied to a burn. “Do come and walk with me. I’m of a mind for some fresh garden air and I’d very much enjoy some company.”

As gently as he’d phrased it, Jason recognized that Alfred’s “suggestion” was more along the lines of an order. One he had no choice but to obey. Jason would sooner suck face with the Joker than buck Alfred. His word was much more law than Bruce’s. He heaved a ragged breath, gave his father a dark look and turned on his heel to accompany Alfred out of the kitchen, snagging a protesting Damian, who’d been trying hard to stay as invisible as possible, as they passed. 

“Bruce” Tim continued once the two were alone, “even if I wanted to come home right now, I need go thru another quarantine period. There’s a chance I might have been exposed! I mean, it’s been a pretty wild night, okay? I won’t risk it! The medical facilities are excellent, as good as anything I’d get in Gotham and I believe I’m as safe here as I’d be there.”

“I don’t agree. And ‘Even if you wanted to come home right now?” Bruce Wayne quoted. He’d caught his son’s turn of phrase. “What do you want, Tim? London is rife with the virus right now. All of Europe is. For that matter, it’s global. And now there’s a more contagious strain out there! The last thing that needs to occur is for you, with your lack of a spleen, to be out in the open, in the thick of it!” Bruce fretted. “I’d sleep much better if you were back in Gotham, here in the manor, under a controlled environment.”

Tim fought down a sigh. In and out. In and out. Breathe, Tim. In and out. In and out. “I know you would. Look, B, dad,” a little subtle manipulation couldn’t hurt, “Two serious attempts were made to take me tonight” he reminded his father. “I’d really like to find out who’s behind it. It’s too easy to assume it’s Ra’s. Yes, he’s got a thing for me, but he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. We both know that. Luring me, or forcing me, to the dark side is far from the only thing on his agenda. The point is, I need to find out for sure, and I need to do it now. Letting this follow me back to Gotham’s not an option, Bruce” Tim stated, determined.

Bruce nodded, unhappy. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like it at all, but he was a realist. So was Tim. Of all his children, his third son was most like him in that respect. But just because the boy (man, a tiny voice harried him) was right, didn’t negate the fact that Bruce had choices that might not have been available to other people. 

“Tim, I could ask Clark to help” Bruce reluctantly sputtered in a near mumble. Batman’s reluctance in calling on any other member of the Justice League for assistance in what he considered Batfamily business was the stuff of hero community legend. Screw it. He wanted his kid home safe and sound. His pride could take the hit. As far as anybody knew Superman was impervious to Earth diseases, could cover the distance in a vanishingly short amount of time and as for any dangers, Bruce almost pitied the idiots stupid enough to anger the Man of Steel.

“No. No, Bruce, please do NOT do that” Tim shot back, trying to be at his most persuasive. “Clark, and you, all of you, you have enough to worry about.” He kept going, overriding Bruce’s nascent objections. “Bruce, you trained us all well on every conceivable level, to take care of ourselves, to figure things out, to handle every possible contingency. What was all that training about if not for a time like this? Huh? You always want us to trust you. Well, this time, you need to trust me. I promise you I’ll be careful. I’ll be so, so careful. I’ll climb inside a hazmat suit and live there if necessary, but you need to trust that I’ve got this. And I’m not alone, remember” he reminded Bruce, indirectly referencing the rather impressive backup unexpectedly available to him in the form of Kingsman. “It’s in my hands. You need to let it stay there while you all handle things on your end. With all that’s happening, this is more than just about me, about us, about our family. People need us now, Bruce. All of us. Doing what we do best. Try not to worry about me. Like I said” He gave his father a cocky half grin, “I’ve trained by the best. I’ll put it to good use. Please try to get some rest. I know you just got in. You all need to sleep. I think I’ll go do that too. I’ll call you again in the morning. And I’ll make sure I talk to Jason. Don’t want him boosting the Bat Jet. Good night” he concluded softly.

“Good night, son. Please stay safe” Bruce finally ceded the argument. Father and son broke the distant connection. Need for rest or not, it was going to be a long night for both.

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The broad splatters of crimson marring the intricately patterned mosaic tiles were quickly washed away. Within scant minutes the only remaining traces of the recent…unpleasantness that had occurred were a few damp spots here and there. They dried soon enough. His ninja, also doubling conveniently as house servants, were the very soul of efficiency, (they knew better than not to be). The double set of open French doors permitted fresh air to flood into the room, diluting the nasty, sickly sour/sweet/vomit smell that so often accompanied violent, sudden death. The body had been removed and the head that had been attached to it only moments before now sat in an ornate box, on explicit display for the room’s remaining occupants, still seeping whatever various fluids were left to drain into layers of absorbent silk. The sword used to do the deed rested, gleaming once more, on the antique carved desk, in front of the sightless eyes of the unlucky victim.

Ra’s Al Ghul surveyed his terrified audience with dispassionate displeasure. Ra’s _hated_ having to behead someone before breakfast. Not that it disturbed his digestion, nothing did that, but it was so…messy and it threw off his schedule for the entire rest of the day. How irksome! Another sip from his cup of excellent coffee helped to soothe his ire somewhat. An advantage to having been alive for centuries was that one knew where and how to obtain the finest coffee. A love of the beverage was a thing he had in common with his detective, soon to be, desired or no, his protégé and successor. Ah yes, thoughts of Timothy brought his mind back around to the business at hand.

The Demon’s Head did not speak, letting the silence rest heavily in the room. The lack of conversation more unnerved the men arrayed around him in a jittery semi-circle. One, a pale, obese individual who carried the air of someone normally used to being obeyed, opened his mouth as if to speak. Ra’s eyes narrowed in warning. The fat man’s mouth shut quickly, whatever he’d been about to say left unsaid.

These sniveling creatures would never suspect it, but Ra’s found them to be…amusing, somewhat. Their bumbling attempts to gain his attention and curry his favor were not without entertainment value. And their undiluted panic over his possible reaction to their double failure was almost enough to make up for those failings. Almost. He’d lived a very long time. He’d take his fun where he could find it.

“Where is Timothy?” he asked softly. The silken coldness of the question scared the living crap out of his listeners. “Where is Timothy?” he repeated the question. “Where has he gone? Who has given him refuge?” Ra’s interrogated. He leaned forward. The other men leaned back, vainly trying to put distance between themselves and someone they were much too late in acknowledging that they should have seen as a lethal threat.

“You see, gentlemen, the most unfortunate result of your ineptitude__” he was interrupted.

“Now see here, Al Ghul!” another of the three shouted and found himself looking into viper’s eyes. He got it right away. He zipped his lip.

“The most unfortunate result of your ineptitude” Ra’s continued on as if there had been no interruption, “is that it has caused Timothy to go to ground. His current whereabouts are unknown. That is unacceptable. You will rectify it immediately. I did not ask for nor do I require your assistance in acquiring the young man, and would have preferred you to not have become involved at all, but since you’ve already taken it upon yourselves to do so, I insist on competence!” The League of Assassins leader punctuated his statement by pounding a fist on the padded arm of his chair. All three of his listeners jumped slightly in their seats. “You will locate Timothy, locate only!” he stressed, drilling his “guests” with his serpent’s gaze, “and then you will report back to me! And, gentlemen” Ra’s voice descended menacingly to just above a whisper, “should any harm come to him, even slight harm, I would be most…annoyed.” Powerful men all within their own circles of influence, the Demon’s Head’s trio of visitors tried not to shake visibly. “Now get out” he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They fled. Ra’s ventured another sip of his coffee and found it had grown cold. He sighed. Early morning beheadings were always such an inconvenience. He motioned to a nearby ninja for more coffee and his breakfast tray and sighed once more. 

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“Your police were not the police” Harry Hart serenely informed Tim the next morning. Kingsman’s Arthur was the host of a virtual conference that saw Tim attending via video connection from his bed in the quarantined medical bay and Eggsy, under the supervision of Kingsman medical personnel, courtesy of his specialized eyewear. Batman and his other children were able to be a part courtesy of a techie alliance between the new Merlin and Oracle. It seemed an unholy joining that left both Harry Hart and Bruce Wayne slightly queasy but quasi crime fighting entities gotta do what quasi crime fighting entities gotta do. 

“You don’t say” snarked Tim, completely unsurprised. His long night had provided lots of time to think and Tim Drake wasn’t considered the brainiest of the Robins for nothing. While he’d had plenty of experience with crooked cops, even killer ones, those two last night had seemed off from the beginning. Maybe, he’d realized, why he’d not been able to relax in the car. Hart’s comment was like a starter’s pistol. “So, not real detectives, huh? Who were they? And what happened to the real cops? Why didn’t they ever show? What happened to them? Do the actual police know? Is there an investigation started already? Who could be operating like this in the middle of a citywide lockdown? How long do you think we have before-“

The rapid non-stop questioning didn’t seem to bother the unflappable Harry Hart, but Bruce rescued him anyway. 

“Tim let’s give the man a chance to explain” Bruce interjected softly. The multibillionaire had been on the receiving end of this particular brand of tenacious curiosity many times and knew how difficult it was for the boy (man, he had to stop thinking of Tim as a boy) to turn his mind off. Things not adding up was a recipe for a Timothy Drake Wayne sleepless night. His son probably had it figured out before Kingsman did. His mind worked so fast and put things together so quickly, he had a tendency to leave others running to catch up without intending to.

“I mean” Tim plowed on as if Bruce hadn’t spoken, the words coming a mile a minute, “I get that they were working for whoever wanted me snatched, but who_”

“Tim!” Bruce put in more forcefully, a bit more of the Batman creeping into his voice.

Tim blinked and straightened, flushing, embarrassed. Bruce heard Jason snicker in the background and turned to give a brief glare. Jason turned away but Bruce could see his shoulders continue to shake with silent laughter. Bruce absolutely refused to take the bait.

“Sorry” Tim apologized. “The floor is yours” he continued, addressing Harry Hart directly.

“Thank you” Harry returned calmly as if this sort of thing happened every day. A small part of him speculated about the possibility of recruiting this young man for Kingsman, or at least recommending him to his American counterpart at Statesman. Alas, not the time. He filed the thought away for future examination and returned to the subject of the present moment.

“This” he began by pressing a button on the remote in his hand. A crime scene photo appeared, the man in the picture obviously dead. Harry continued “is the real Inspector Tom Masterson, Metropolitan Police, late, literally unfortunately, of New Scotland Yard. His body was discovered very early this morning by a concerned colleague after he missed a scheduled check-in.” Masterson’s mottled face and the dark bruising around his bloated neck yelled to the experienced investigators on both sides of the Atlantic that the Inspector’s death had been neither natural nor easy. “His partner, an Inspector Ellis Smith, was killed a slight time later in a suspiciously convenient car crash whilst on his way to the Yard” Hart informed them.

“How do you know all of this al-“ Dick began.

“Kingsman has assets inside Scotland Yard” Tim broke in. “More than one. And those assets have some kind of all access pass.”

That settled it, Harry Hart decided. After these current collywobbles were settled and the Coronavirus crisis was defeated, and it would be eventually, he intended to make this young man an offer. If the Batman got his knickers in a twist over it, so be it. Harry knew Kingsman material when he saw it. Eggsy was proof enough of that! (you may reach your chapped lips up from hell and kiss Mr. Pickles furry stuffed bum, Chester King). He cancelled any thoughts of sharing with Statesman. Let those snarky blighters find their own prospects.

“Do we know yet who sent the two men who showed up in Mr. Wayne’s, er, Tim’s suite last night?” Eggsy chimed in, joining the conversation for the first time. That was the thread he wanted to pull on. Those bastards slipped in under his radar and Eggsy was taking that shite very personally.

“We’ve not established that as of yet” Harry admitted, even Kingsman wasn’t that fast. “That part of the investigation is still developing.”

“Send us what you have” Bruce barked reflexively. 

Tim facepalmed. You can’t give these guys orders, Bruce. They aren’t Bats, he groaned silently. Dick winced and Jason rolled his eyes. Damian smirked at his father’s tone. Cass regarded her father fondly, infinitely patient.

A discreet throat cleared in the background. Alfred. “Master Bruce” he chided Bruce as only Alfred could.

Damn it, Bruce thought, this was going to take some getting used to. He didn’t generally play well with others. Alfred, his kids and most of the JLA knew that all too well. Kingsman was a horse of a whole different color. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Would you please send us what you have? We’ll want to work the case from our end.” The request was a trifle awkward. Bruce was as bad at diplomacy as he was at emotions.

Neither Kingsman seemed offended. “Of course” Harry consented amiably. Eggsy was grinning openly. All other considerations aside, watching his boss and the billionaire crime fighter try to work together without driving each other batty ( ** _batty_** , ha! Sometimes Eggsy cracked himself up) was going to be worth getting shot. Well, kind of.

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“You tell them, Baby Bird, or I will!” Jason threatened, the Red Hood in him this close to busting loose. “They deserve to know, you moron! It just might matter with the Corona runnin’ around all over the place! Has your big brain not thought of that? Aaauugghh!” Frustrated, Jason kicked an inoffensive chair across the cave. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

Forty-eight hours after their initial call, the team, and that’s what they were, no matter how much it bunched the Dark Knight’s bat panties, (and it did, it soooo did), the Bats and Kingsman were a team at least for now, and were having a second video chat. Harry, Eggsy, newly released from medical to very light duty and Merlin (affable chap that one, he and Oracle were getting on like two peas in a pod) and Tim, tested and found virus free, were gathered in the main briefing room, with all it’s available tech. Stateside, the Bats, minus Damian, now engaged with homeschooling in his room, much to the boy’s disgruntlement, were gathered around the Batcomputer’s main monitor. Tim could tell from the background.

The whole family was still staying at the Manor, Cass and Jason included, for the duration of the COVID-19/Coronavirus emergency. Bruce wanted his family close as much as possible, for more than one reason. No more immune to the deadly pandemic than any other city, Gotham had been hit hard, but Gothamites were a tough crowd. These were the same folks who dealt with Joker, Two-Face, Clayface, Poison Ivy and the Riddler, sometimes all on the same day and then got mugged on the way home from that. As far as they were concerned, Coronavirus was just going to have to get in line. The criminals and rogues weren’t going to be down for long, either. They had to make a living, after all. The pickings might be a little slim right now, social distancing and yada, yada, yada, but Gotham’s bad boys could roll with it. So, for the bats, limited patrols, with full masks, filters and gloves, and full decontamination processes after. It was all hands on deck. All his children were home and Batman was satisfied that they were as safe as he could make them, even with helping to keep the city pacified.

All except one. It rankled Bruce past the point of sleeplessness that his most at risk child was, for all intents and purposes, trapped smack in the middle of a Coronavirus hot spot. If Tim had not already been in London on WE business when the virus arrived in the city, his father would have dragged him kicking and cursing into protective containment. As things stood now, however, he had no choice but to trust Tim’s continued health and safety to Kingsman and hope down to his core that they were equal to the task. To do that though, Harry Hart and his people needed to know everything, the full story, and, as Bruce was discovering, they did not. His son was holding out on them, hiding a critical piece of information behind his back that his new British friends should absolutely be made aware of.

The Wayne patriarch saw Tim draw breath to argue. Before the young man could get it out, Bruce felt rather than saw Cass step up to stand next him. “Brother” she said simply, letting the single word hover in the air on its own for a moment. “Tell them” Cass urged softly. She said no more. She didn’t have to, her warm, wise eyes imprisoning Tim far more effectively than all of Jason’s belligerent concern.

Damn, damn, and triple damn, Tim swore sub-vocally. Why did it have to be Cass? He could argue anybody else in his family to a standstill, including Bruce and Jason. But Cass and Alfred, those two took him down every time. He scrubbed his face with both palms, conceding defeat. “Fine. You win” He turned to Harry, Eggsy and Merlin (James, his name was James but no one, not even his mum, called him that). He’d tell them then somebody in this land of tea drinkers was going to owe him one big ass cup of coffee. Might as well hit ‘em with it straight up.

“I don’t have a spleen. Do you suppose I could get a cup of coffee, black, two sugars?” He smiled hopefully.

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“It is disgraceful and pathetic that you attempted to have Timothy Drake-Wayne kidnapped twice” Alison MacLeod hissed the words, “and both attempts ended in failure! Your actions have placed the entire council at risk!” The aristocratic voice trembled with rage. “Your foolish deeds have imperiled us all. You’ve possibly compromised the council’s anonymity and worse, brought the scrutiny of Ra’s Al Ghul! How dare you-”

The woman’s vitriolic emasculation of her fellow council members was cut short as the final member became part of the session and the five screens split to include a sixth. The gathering of the Everest Council was complete. Virtual gathering, that was. Each of the remaining six members of the Council attended from the safety and opulence of their homes via an unhackable (such a common word, many of them felt, it was nevertheless appropriate) connection. Such a connection allowed them to come together without risking contamination from the COVID-19 menace currently circumnavigating the globe. Succinctly galling though it may be, not even all their connections, money, influence and superior breeding was able to protect them from Coronavirus should they come into contact with it. They couldn’t risk meeting in person, but they had to meet. The current world health crisis must not be allowed to derail the Council’s plans. It was simply too important to the members themselves, and for the all the peoples of the earth, that the agenda be maintained. The Everest Council was the world’s salvation, the world just didn’t know it.

Planet Earth was comprised of sheep. Unenlightened masses too preoccupied with the daily scramble to survive to ever to be capable of triumph. Most of them were simply too exhausted to be able to think that far outside themselves. And the few that managed to rise above, like that empty-headed fool Brucie Wayne in Gotham City, mistakenly believed the way to make a difference was thru charitable donations and philanthropic endeavors such as the Martha Wayne Foundation. Absurd. No, the world needed firm, true leadership, those of clear minded vision who were able to see the correct path and had the determination to wrench humanity onto that path by force if necessary.

Enter the Everest Council. Originally incorporated to include seven voting members, one member to represent each of the earth’s seven continents, they were now six. The seventh, Michael Ainsley now inhabited an ornate box (with a top, what kind of savage would leave such a thing uncovered) in a storage room of one of Ra’s Al Ghul’s many haunts. His head did, that is. The rest of him had been cremated and scattered to the four winds. His death was not mourned to any great extent. Everest had come together not out of friendship, but purpose.

The genocidal leanings of both Richmond Valentine and Poppy Adams had dovetailed with the Council’s own, so no interference had been deemed necessary. Attempting to efficiently managed the lives of approximately seven and a half billion people was an unrealistic goal. Clearly, some of those sheep needed to be culled. The Council only disagreed with the sloppy, chaotic means chosen to accomplish the task. What baffled the Everest Council for a time was their inability to find out who was responsible for the unnatural deaths of either. Their deep cover assets within Valentine’s chosen ones got taken out on V-day, their heads popped like over inflated balloons like so many thousands of others. Someone had triggered the dead man’s switch embedded in those accursed chips Richmond Valentine insisted on implanting as a sign of loyalty to his thoroughly bent world view, but who? They now knew, but it had taken far too long to ferret out the information. The Adams woman was far too paranoid. Everest only been able to infiltrate her organization at a very low level at the time of her death, but finally knowing who was responsible for the demise of Richmond Valentine and for the karmically fitting finale of Poppy Adams, and dealing with those individuals, was a troubling loose end. Kingsman. That very, very, loathsome loose end was one that definitely had to be tied up, but right now, they had a bigger problem. Ra’s Al Ghul, Leader of the League of Assassins.

It was clear now who had come to who’s attention first. The Council had noticed Ra’s, but not before he’d notice them. It no longer mattered, really. The day Talia Al Ghul walked into Michael Ainsley’s office with a “business proposition” the color of their sky changed from blue to emerald green. They’d been so stupidly reckless. Victims of their own vanity. Ainsley, a ruthlessly brutal man in business and in life, thought himself, and thru him the rest of Everest, to be manipulating the beautiful, exotic woman, when all along he and they had been unknowingly playing the parts of the puppets. Now it was too late. Thru the idiocy of Michael Ainsley, Cyril Coglin and two of the other council members, the Everest Council was now in the compassionless hand of the Demon, and, angered, he was prepared to squeeze them dry.

the Lazarus Pits bore true blame. Knowledge of their existence was a drug too potent for the Council to resist. Being able to hold death at arm’s length indefinitely. To be able to see their aims achieved without the threat of a ticking life clock. This was a power they must possess but obtaining it required the goodwill of a being who had none. That’s when they’d learned of the Demon’s Head’s interest in Timothy Drake Wayne. Al Ghul’s desire to possess the boy might have been disturbing if any of them could be bothered to care. They did not. The League leader wanted the young man, so he would have him. Only the problem was, their surrogates had botched it, twice, and now Ra’s Al Ghul’s fury had been awakened and there was only one way to make it right. The Everest Council might only have one more chance. They’d better get it right this time.

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	4. Gonna Sit Insanity Down, Buy It A Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are made and some interesting connections come to light.

**Chapter 4- Gonna Sit Insanity Down, Buy It A Beer**

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“Do you know of this gentleman? Is he at all familiar to you?” The question came from Harry Hart as an image appeared on the main monitor. Tim was present as well as Merlin, but also one of Kingsman’s other “Knights.” Eggsy in his role as Galahad, as well as the new Lancelot, though Lancelot attended by virtue of her unique glasses. Before anyone could answer Harry’s question, two more Kingsman, Gawain and Bedivere flashed in, glasses donned, and nodded in their leader’s direction. Both looked bone weary. Their last mission had not gone … as smoothly as it should have. Next to them appeared Bors de Ganis, grinning evilly. He’d run that pair thru rigorous training scenarios for hours until they’d literally dropped, then dragged their arse’s up off the mats and run them some more, daring them to complain. They wisely had not. The table remained half occupied. Kingsman was no more immune to the effects of Coronavirus than anyone else. Harry was immensely relived to know his afflicted personnel were well on their way to complete recovery. Bloody awful thing, this COVID-19.

“Yes” came Bruce Wayne’s surprised and furious affirmation thru the Gotham connection. Nightwing, Robin, Black Bat and Red Hood patrolled the eerily subdued streets of Gotham tonight, but Bruce was in the cave. He needed to talk with Kingsman and more importantly, check on the wellbeing of his absent son. “That’s Michael Ainsley. He’s the head of a multi-national conglomerate based in Toronto. A lot of tentacles out there, some of them legitimate, many of them much less so. They’ve attempted to partner with WE on more than one occasion, but we’ve always said no. I don’t trust Ainsley, or a lot of the people he does business with. Why do you ask?” Wayne inquired, his tone perilously close to the Batman’s rough road gnarl.

His peripheral vision registered Alfred silently, as collected and decorous as ever, appearing at his side with a tray of sandwiches and Chamomile tea, which he knew Bruce preferred to coffee before falling into bed following a night of prowling the city’s rooftops and alleys. Coming deliberately into camera range, Alfred’s face also became visible to the London group. Pennyworth locked eyes with Harry Hart. The Kingsman leader stiffened imperceptibly but did not react further. Alfred’s miniscule nod and ghost of a smile behind Bruce’s back went unremarked upon. The butler stepped back so that he was no longer showing in the video feed. Bruce successfully stifled his own reaction. If Alfred and Arthur believed their brief unspoken communication to have gone unnoticed, he’d let them think that for now. He was Batman. He missed nothing, but right now he had bigger fish to fry. 

“Mr. Ainsley, it seems, has recently made some most interesting additions to his corporate security staff” Harry supplied drolly. Right on cue, the face of another man appeared next to the Canadian CEO’s.

“Son of a b-biscuit!” Tim hurriedly modified his words, acknowledging the in-cave presence of his grandfather figure.

“Bollocks!” Eggsy yelled at the same time.”

On the screen next to Ainsley’s ruddy visage was the phony Inspector Tom Masterson, obviously from a time before the night his face had hate sex with a wrought iron post, but, yep, there was no mistaking the scumbag.

“We, and by we I mean to say our Merlin here” Hart indicated young James, “managed thru the magic of facial recognition, to match footage from security cameras in the lobby of the Dorchester Hotel to that obtained of Mr. Michael Ainsley and his security staff arriving at a high level gathering of similar associates. We may assume the other, er, not detective, Inspector Smith has the same employer.”

“A high-level gathering? With who? Where?” Tim asked, his detective’s mind trying to put the pieces together.

“Nova Scotia” Bruce answered, “an extremely well- guarded private estate far from prying eyes.” He eyed Hart with new respect. His fears for Tim eased somewhat. Kingsman may be capable of protecting his son after all. Perhaps not from the virus entirely, but from human manufactured threats, yes. If they were able to obtain pictures from this location, then their resources went well beyond what he’d suspected.

“You’re familiar with the property, Mr. Wayne” Harry noted. “Have you been there in person?”

It was a question that Bruce had no intention of answering. He smiled tightly, letting his expression speak for him.

Harry shrugged. It was worth a try.

“Got something you want to share with the class, B?” Tim asked impatiently. Sometimes getting straight answers out of Bruce was like pulling teeth and he didn’t feel like playing Dark Knight dentist tonight.

“If the meeting was there, then I think I know who some of the other attendees were” Bruce began to explain. The throaty purr of motorcycles roaring into the Batcave, accompanied by the basso reverberation of the Batmobile, caused him to break off temporarily. Patrol was done for the night. He watched from the corner of his eye as Nightwing began putting the car thru a thorough automated sanitizing process before trooping off to join his younger siblings in the showers.

“Don’t keep us hanging, B, spill” Tim urged. “Details, details. Places, names, context. Come on, don’t be a case tease.”

A corner of Bruce’s mouth tilted upwards, a suggestion of a hint of a smile. Oh, Tim, don’t ever change son. 

“The estate doesn’t actually have a name. There’s a brass plate mounted by the main gates with the number nineteen on it. it’s the closest thing to identification that particular piece of land has ever had, so it’s known as ‘Nineteen.’ Sounds melodramatic, I know, but it’s really not. The place has got security on par with a seat of government. I’m talking electronic, drone technology, you name it. And hardened everything, including a fallout shelter that could easily be transitioned into the aforementioned seat of government.” Wayne paused, his words weighted with meaning. As expected, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Give us the rest of it, B” Tim leaned forward, almost as if he were trying to come thru the screen and into the Batcave. From his seat in the Kingsman briefing room, he saw Dick, Jason and Cass, fresh from showers and decontamination, surround their father.

Damian attempted to join them but got stopped in his tracks by Bruce. “Post patrol snack and then bed for you, son. You have on-line learning with Dr. Gleason and Dr. Gerber tomorrow, and you need your sleep.”

“But Father-!” the boy erupted right on queue Tim noted, not making much of an effort to hide his amusement. He was thirty- five hundred miles away. Let the little gremlin see.

“Damian” His father interrupted firmly but without raising his voice, “I’d like it if you got at least eight hours of sleep, son. You’re still growing, and your mind and body need the rest. Besides, it’s good for your immune system, now go.”

“But father, the case, Timothy-!“ Damian tried again. He was Robin. Batman’s partner and heir! When would they cease to treat him like a child?!

Dick took pity on the kid. “Look, Dami, how ‘bout this. We’ll keep you in the loop, I promise. Everything we know, you’ll know, I promise. You’ll get the full brief in the morning over breakfast-”

“Master Dick” Alfred contributed, mildly disapproving.

“…After breakfast” Dick course corrected without losing a beat. “Right now, get a bite to eat and then hit the sack, okay? I swear, you won’t miss anything. My word on it, ‘K?”

Damian acquiesced with ill grace, the boy throwing his father a sulky look over his shoulder as he stomped his way loudly up the stairs, trailed by the imperturbable Alfred. Bruce sighed mightily and tried to ignore how obviously entertained everyone else was by the little family drama.

“Ok, that’s over” this from Tim. “More, B, more. You were saying…” Red made little circular motions with his hands. “Does the place belong to Ainsley?”

“He’s not the owner of record, that would be Langdon-Intercon, the multi-national he heads, and that information’s hidden under layers of shell companies. Michael Ainsley and his… associates have gone thru a great deal of trouble to hide.”

“Associates?” was Eggsy’s one word prompt.

“Yes” “Bruce affirmed, getting to the meat of his reply. “Ainsley is a founding member of something called the Everest Council. Think the Bilderberg Group or the Trilateral Commission only with less scruples and every bit as much or more willingness to achieve their goals by any means necessary as Richmond Valentine or Poppy Adams.”

And now he’d **really** grabbed their attention, notably Harry Hart and Eggsy Unwin. Richmond Valentine and Poppy Adams would forever occupy a place of prominence in Kingsman’s hall of infamy and with Harry and Eggsy specifically. Any group of individuals mentioned in the same sentence with those two needed to be dealt with, and damn quickly.

“Everest has been active for about twenty years” Bruce continued. “Their main thrust up until about five years ago was in trying to manipulate economies and events and influence governmental policies to their satisfaction. A lot of their activities were unethical to say the least, but the members have managed to cover their tracks extremely well. The Council’s done a lot of nasty things in a lot of places, but they didn’t seem to be dangerous on a world-shaking scale until after V-day.”

“An event which Wayne Enterprises appears to have come through relatively unscathed, if I might interject” Harry remarked coolly,(let’s see how easily the famed Batman rattled) earning him an acid look from Tim Wayne on behalf of both his father and WE.

“What does that have to do with anything?” RR bristled. Kingsman might have just pulled him out of a tight spot, and he was grateful and all that, but Harry Hart better be very careful what he said next.

“I never liked Richmond Valentine” Bruce admitted. “Or trusted him. Besides” he added with a sniff, “anything Valentine’s company could do, WE’s tech division can do better with their eyes closed. I made sure our employees worldwide knew neither they nor their families needed to line up like lemmings for his phones, no matter how free they were. Wayne Enterprises came out of that day better off than most because of it. Wish I could say the same for Gotham, New York, or London.” That last he added very deliberately. If the Kingsman boss wanted to play with needles, Batman had one too.

“B, you said Ainsley was _a_ founding member of this Everest Council. How many others are there? And do you know who they all are?” Tim asked his father.

“There are seven members, supposedly one for each of Earth’s seven continents. I’ve known about Ainsley for a while, and one other is a man named Cyril Coglin, who represents Australia. Then there is a woman by name of Alison MacLeod.” Bruce tapped a few keys on the Batcomputer and a blond woman’s image appeared. In her early to mid-thirties, a pinched, closed look on her face. “Scottish, very old money, the kind whose family never makes the news because they have the power to make sure their name stays permanently out of the headlines. Alison is second generation. Her mother, Elspeth Kensington MacLeod was a founding member of Everest. She and Alison’s father Daniel are deceased. According to my source, they were both Council assets planted inside Valentine’s operation. Unfortunately for them, both accepted the microchip in order to earn Valentine’s trust. It turned out to be a fatal mistake. Their minds were quite literally blown on V-day.” Eggsy smirked privately, recalling the symphonic rainbow of exploding heads. Still f****ng spectacular!

“Alright, I’ll ask.” This was Jason. “Just how do you know all this, B? Where you getting your info, old man?” he sounded irritated. Probably just needed sleep. Jason got grouchy after patrol, ‘specially if his access to Alfred’s chocolate chip cookies was delayed for any reason.

Before Bruce had a chance to deflect the question, Dick beat him to it. Nudging his brother in the side with an elbow, he cracked “Come on, Jay! Didja forget? He is the night!” Dick whispered theatrically, lowering his voice by an octave. Jason crossed his arms over his broad chest, frowning. On tip toe, Cass pecked her brother on the check. Jason huffed and rolled his eyes. Cass giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. Yeah, so he was laying the attitude on a little thick, but he decided hearing Cass’s effervescent giggle was worth a small ding to his dignity. All the boys loved being able to make their too solemn sister laugh.

A stern look from Batman helped to corral his troops. Serious briefing, right. Straighten up. Post patrol loopiness under control, Sir!

“Do you know the names of any of the others, Mr. Wayne?” Harry asked.

“Only one more, Aiman bin Mamat” Bruce clicked a few more keys on the computer, revealing a balding, powerfully built, well dressed man. “Malaysian. He’s the Asian representative. Ainsley’s North America, MacLeod’s Europe. Still working on ID’ing the other four” he allowed.

“Well, this is nice to know and everything” Jason broke in again, very serious now, “but there’s something else we really need to clear up right now. Why are they so hot to get next to Baby Bird, huh? Trying twice in the same night to take him, that’s intense, yeah? I mean, no offense, Timmy, but why’re they so into you? What have you got that they want so bad?”

He stared at Tim over the video feed as if Tim were going to pull the answer out of his butt. That was not going to happen. Tim lifted his shoulders, bewildered. No clue.

“We are, as of yet, unable to supply an answer to that question, Mr. Wayne” Harry told Jason, then paused. “You know this is going to get a bit confusing with so many Mr. Wayne’s to keep track of” he commented wryly.

“Call me Todd” Jason threw the Kingsman leader a lifeline. “I think it’s kind of important we figure it out, don’t you? I get the feeling these aren’t the type of people who give up easy. They’re going to keep coming until they get what they want, and right now what they want is Tim. We need to know why.”

Oracle had been monitoring the bi-continental collaboration from the safety of self- imposed quarantine in the Tower. “B, everybody, I might have an answer, or at the very least, the beginnings of one” she stated, the clicking of computer keys could be heard in the background. “You all need to see this” the tech genius added, as she finished loading the information. Both Gotham and London received the same image at the same time with vastly different reactions.

“This is bad” said Dick

“Well...that… sucks” said Tim.

“…” said Jason.

Bruce felt a massive migraine beginning to take hold that had absolutely nothing to do with Coronavirus as the monitor displayed a very clear image, obviously taken with a long-distance lens, of what had been intended to be a very private meeting between Talia Al Ghul and Michael Ainsley.

“This is-“ Harry began 

“Bruce’s ex” Jason hissed, grinning wickedly, clearly enjoying Bruce trying hard not to visibly squirm under the astonished eyes of the Kingsman agents.

“I’m…sure there’s quite a story to be told there” Harry Hart managed.

“Bruce Wayne’s baby mama, their kid, her estranged eight-hundred- year old megalomaniacal father who’s also my stalker? Why yes, yes there certainly, certainly is quite the story” Tim answered, way more cheerfully than the situation called for, in Bruce’s opinion.

Bruce turned to his three exhausted vigilante offspring. “It’s been a long night for all of you. You might as well go to bed. I can catch you up in the morning.”

Dick turned for the stairs, but Jason didn’t budge. “You think I’m gonna miss this? Naw, B. Do tell” he snarked, flashing his father a fiendish grin. Dick doubled back and grabbed his younger brother around the waist and by the scruff of his sweats, dragging Jason up the stairs as Jason swore and tried vainly to wriggle free. There was much cursing and wrestling but eventually, the cave entrance closed behind them. 

Cass lingered, laying a hand on Bruce’s arm, she silently indicated she was willing to stick around as moral support.

He hugged his daughter, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “I’m a big boy” he smiled at her softly. “I’ll be fine, go to bed.” He pressed another light kiss on her hair and gave her a little push towards the steps.

Once it was just him, Tim, who appeared to be enjoying Bruce’s suddenly awkward position a little too much, and Kingsman, Bruce knew it was time to man up and ‘fess up.

“You might want to get comfortable” he advised. “This may take a while….’’

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In a warped, strange, totally weird way that only a Bat could even begin to comprehend, Tim considered as he luxuriated under a scalding hot shower the next morning, he was kind of proud of his adoptive father. Once Bruce had decided to come clean to Kingsman regarding his history with Talia, Ra’s and the whole League of Assassins thing, he hadn’t held back. He’d given them almost all of it. Almost. The one thing Batman kept to himself were the circumstances under which Damian had been conceived. Bruce owed that much to his youngest child. Plus, it was NOTB.

He had to hand it to Eggsy, Harry Hart and the rest of Kingsman too, Tim decided. Bruce hit them with the fact that an eight-hundred year- old homicidal, genocidal crazy man with access to green bubbling pits of (water?) capable of reviving the dead existed and they’d barely blinked. Finding out said looney was the leader of a cult of highly skilled assassins who roamed the world killing on commission hadn’t phased them much either. Very cool customers, Kingsman. But when he thought about it, some of the stuff Harry Hart and Co. had encountered… maybe a centuries old, self- absorbed mad-as-a-monkey-on-a-tricycle egotist with legions of killers at his beck and call was just another day at the office for them. Who knew? At any rate, he had to admit, they’d taken it all rather well.

The only thing Harry Hart wouldn’t let go of, actually the only two things, were the revelation of Tim’s missing spleen and Ra’s Al Ghul’s creepy determination to turn Tim into his successor. The spleen thing in particular, seemed to bother the Kingsman leader the most. Now, in his time as a Kingsman, Harry had managed to help save the world no less than a half dozen times all on his own and that was before Eggsy Unwin, V-day and Poppy Adams.

COVID-19 was a different type of threat, however, of a type that only a handful of persons alive had ever confronted before. A pandemic. A global killer. A microbiological enemy that couldn’t be foiled with clever tactics or technological genius. This virus respected no borders, no ethnic distinctions, no economic status, no age or religious beliefs. Not every encounter with it turned fatal, but hundreds of thousands around the world had already perished and an end to the damnable thing was nowhere in sight. And here Harry Hart and thru him, Kingsman, was charged with the safety and well-being, in the midst of this toxic soup, of a son of none other than the Batman. He and Kingsman not only had to protect a young man with a compromised immune system from contracting a highly contagious deadly virus, but from the likes of the Everest Council and, incredibly enough, an ageless obsessed madman who was evidently harder to kill than bloody Rasputin. To top it off, both this Everest Council and Ra’s Al Ghul had ambitions of reshaping the world in their own image. Harry exhaled heavily. Valentine, Poppy Adams, now Everest and Al Ghul. Good heavens, where did these people keep coming from?

Kingsman had learned of the need to provide the boyish Wayne Enterprises CEO with protection in the first place from an anonymous source. An unseen someone, who, in their words, owed Tim Wayne a “life debt.” Harry now believed, but might never ever perhaps, be able to prove that the tip had come from within either the Everest Council or Al Ghul’s ranks. Regardless, Harry had dispatched Eggsy to the Dorchester, and the rest, as the saying went, was history.

“A strict course of antibiotics, the proper vaccinations and social distancing with a vengeance” Tim was saying. “That will be enough. I’m not as delicate as I look” he kept insisting. Tim was in the middle of a three way argument involving himself, Harry Hart and Bruce.

“Tim, I want you home” Bruce was insistent. “I want you back in Gotham right now. You’ll be safer here, from potential kidnappers and from Coronavirus. The company jet is locked down at Heathrow, but I can get it released so you can come home, and that is what I want you to do, now!”

“Come on, Bruce! It’s not a given that I’ll be safer there than here no matter what the threat is” Tim argued back confidently. Not only was he the Robin that lied to Batman and got away with it on more than one occasion, but he was also the only one in the family besides Alfred that routinely out-argued Bruce in or out of the cowl. He was quietly quite proud of that. “Even if I got on the plane today and came home, Gotham has been hit as hard by Corona as every other city or town in the US. I can avoid it as much here as I can there. They’ve got excellent medical and quarantine facilities, B, I promise you they do. If I came down with the virus, _and I’m not going to,_ the level of care wouldn’t be any different. As far as the whole kidnapping thing goes, blllttttt!” Tim made a raspberry noise with his mouth, “frankly, these Everest guys suck it. I’m not impressed.”

“Impressing you isn’t the objective, son, abducting you is. And now we’ve established a connection to Ra’s Al Ghul!” Bruce didn’t quite yell.

“We’ve what!?” Damian’s outraged voice sounded behind him.

Damn, Bruce berated himself silently. Embroiled in his heated discussion with Tim, he’d not noticed his thirteen- year-old enter the cave.

“Grandfather is trying to kidnap Drake!? Again!? Why do you continue to allow this, father?” The boy’s voice wavered between a high-pitched teen warble and the lower register it would eventually settle into.

“Why didn’t you tell us this, father?” the child inquired angrily.

Bruce saw that his son was working himself into a temper. Better to head that off right now, he decided. Damian’s temper tantrums, thankfully much fewer in number these days, were still often accompanied by some form of painful consequences for everyone involved.

“Son, I hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone yet. I was about to after breakfast.”

“But-“Damian blurted.

“Dami” this was Dick. “Remember, I said after breakfast. I promised, right?”

“Yeah, Damian, he promised, so, give it a rest, ok?” Tim put in from London over the video feed. “And besides B” the young man said, addressing his father once more, “I already told you I didn’t think Ra’s was responsible for the kidnap attempts, and I was right, wasn’t I?” he challenged.

“Tim, they were going to hand you over to Ra’s like the booby prize at a carnival!” Bruce objected.

“We don’t know that for sure, B” Tim pointed out. Booby prize? Jeez Bruce, that was harsh. In Gotham, his father opened his mouth to argue further. Tim headed him off. “And even if that was the case, I think I know why.”

That brought Bruce up short for a moment. “We’re listening” he gave a vague wave behind him to include Tim’s siblings, which now included the newly arrived Cass, and Jason stumbling down the steps, coffee in hand and one eye closed.

“Simple” Tim was nonchalant. “Lazarus Pits”

“What the hell do those things” the revulsion was thick in Jason’s voice, “have to do with any of this?” Red Hood was crawling up the lee side of his mind as he grated out the question and ruthlessly squashed the flash of green that swam in front of his eyes, barely managing to prevent spilling coffee all over the Batcomputer.

Dick rubbed Jason’s shoulder. “Breathe, little wing, just breathe” he soothed.

Jason irritably shrugged the hand off, “I’m goin’ back upstairs” he grated. “Alf sent me down to tell you breakfast is ready.” He took the stairs two at a time.

Bruce stared after him in concern for a few seconds, then pulled his attention back to Tim. “The Lazarus Pits. What about them?”

“B” Tim had done it again, Bruce could tell. That thing where his brain, which seemed not to have an off switch, had leapt ahead to a conclusion others might still be try to reach. “This Everest Council, they want us all to grow up to be just like them, right? Their aim is to populate the planet with a bunch of mini-me’s?”

“That about sums it up” Bruce agreed.

“That doesn’t just happen, B” Tim pointed out. “The bible says it took God 6 days to make the world. These guys aren’t God, they aren’t even Dr. Evil. Turning us all into good little mindless robots is gonna take time. Plus, everybody’s got a new enemy to fight these days, remember?” he prompted, an oblique reference to COVID-19. “Doesn’t matter how bad Everest, or Ra’s or anybody else wants to take over the world, it’s not happening until there’s a vaccine or…” Tim stopped.

“The Everest Council believes the Pits will give them the time and immunity they need” Bruce finished, distaste and weariness clear. Joker, Riddler, the Penguin, Poison Ivy, Ra’s Al Ghul, Richmond Valentine, Poppy Adams. Now the Everest Council. What diseased rock were these people continually crawling out from under? He fought down the un-Batman like urge to scream. 

“How would they even know about…” Damian started to ask, then stopped as he noticed the picture still up on one of the computer’s side monitors of his mother and a man he did not recognize. “Mother?” The boy eyed his father, confused.

“Master Bruce” Alfred spoke, drawing all eyes to the staircase, “I’ve been waiting breakfast for all but Master Jason. He’s walking in the garden. He appears to be somewhat shaken” the old man commented, worried.

The conversation paused as the Wayne brood, minus Bruce, trooped upstairs obediently to have their morning (actually brunch, but morning for all persons Bat) meal.

“A trade, your son for access to these Lazarus Pits” Harry contributed, resuming the discussion, then turned away to receive a transmission from the comm in his ear. Whatever the Kingsman leader heard, he didn’t like.

“I’ll be up shortly, Alfred. Thank you” Bruce acknowledged. “We’ll have to pick this up_” he never got a chance to complete the rest of the sentence.

“We have to move, NOW!” Harry Hart commanded, grabbing Tim’s bicep, pulling him out of his chair. “Mr. Wayne, we’ll continue this later.”

“What is it?” Bruce yelled, anxiety gripping him, “What’s going on?!”

“Rest assured, Kingsman will take good care of your son” Harry answered. Tim got in one last startled look before being pushed ahead of Hart out of the room.

“Tim! Tim!” Bruce yelled. A sullen rumbling sound overshadowed his frantic shouts and the London conference room on his screen began to fill with a hazy smoke. “Tim!!” But there was no response.

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**Yep, that's all for now. See you next week!**


	5. Ball of Confusion, (That's What the World is Today, Hey, Hey!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad, to worse and then get better? We can only hope!

**Chapter 5- Ball of Confusion (That’s What the World is Today, Hey, Hey!)**

Bruce Wayne stormed into the kitchen Alfred used every morning to prepare breakfast for the family red-faced and puffing like an affronted bull. He only barely managed to keep from punching the innocent wall in front of him by way of venting his frustrations. Grabbing his hair with both hands (yes, it was all his real, natural hair. Amazingly enough his nighttime activities, the city’s rogues and his children had not combined to make him bald…yet). Bruce got a grip on his fears by main force. Meditative breathing learned years earlier as he traveled the world transforming himself into Batman took him over as his mind returned to the here and now. Opening his eyes, he saw his four remaining children eyeing him warily. 

“Bruce, what_” Dick stuttered, then started again. “What is it, what happened?” Dick asked, not sure he wanted the answer. An out of control Bruce was as rare as a beautiful spring day in Gotham, it happened, but if you blinked, tough luck pal, you better hope somebody took a picture. 

Bruce started to speak, then stopped.

“B” Jason told him, exasperated, “If you’re going to make sense, words actually have to come out of that hole on the front of your face that’s under your nose!”

“Master Jason” Alfred chastened. Jason backed off. He wanted to find out what had Bruce so worked up, but respect for Alfred was paramount.

“Father?” Damian’s voice was inquiring.

“We’ve lost contact with Tim” their father admitted, “and I believe Kingsman is under attack” he further explained, telling everyone what had taken place in London after they’d come upstairs for their morning meal.

“Father, we must_!” from Damian

B, you’re not just gonna_!” was Jason at the same time.

Bruce, we gotta_!” yelled Dick, in sync with his brothers.

“Young masters” Once again Alfred bought order to chaos, “this rumpus will not help anything” he chided gently. The aged butler was terribly frightened for young Timothy but knew calm and rational would serve all of them, Tim included, far better than becoming agitated. A restless silence descended.

“Master Bruce, what are your plans?” Alfred asked of the man who was his son in all but blood fact.

Bruce was ready. “If Tim can’t come to us, then it’s time we went to him” he answered decisively.

“How are you going to find him father?” Damian asked, “if these people, this Kingsman organization is being attacked, we don’t even know by who, or how bad it is or if Timothy is still alive_” the boy stopped, “I, I mean, I don’t_” Damian stammered, regretting his choice of words. 

“Tim’s not dead!” Jason barked hostilely, rounding on his youngest brother. “I realize thinking of him that way makes you all ‘happy, happy, joy, joy’ but, damn, Dami!”

“That’s not true, Todd, I don’t_” Damian began indignantly to deny the accusation. 

Dick automatically jumped to Damian’s defense. “You didn’t need to go there, Jay! That’s not true! Dami doesn’t want Tim to die!”

“Come on, dickface! It wasn’t all that long ago the little demon tried to do the deed his own self!” Jason contended hotly.

“I know I’ve treated Timothy badly in the past_” Damian yelled

“Badly? Treated him badly? That’s what you’re calling it?!” Jason shouted the question, incredulous.

“Jay-“ Dick jumped in again.

“You can’t talk, you have tried to kill him more than once_!” came Damian’s furious reply.

This time it was Cass who ended it. Wading into the center of the scrum, throwing her hands up, she glared all three of her brothers mute. When Jason acted as if he wanted to continue the verbal brawl, Cass nailed him with a narrow- eyed stare. He kept whatever he’d been prepared blurt out to himself. Only a fool poked Cass when she was wearing her resting badass face.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred stated again, inquisitively, after waiting out the tumult.

“Like I said before, if we can’t bring Tim to us, then we go to him” Bruce told the rest of his family, “and we know someone who can find him no matter where he is” he said, his need to see Tim alive and safe canceling out his reluctance to involve metas. 

“Clark can track his heartbeat” Dick nodded, head back in the game now.

“Conner Kent can find him faster” Jason said. “He’s Tim’s best friend. They’re both Titans. If anybody can find him faster than Superman, it’s the Kent kid.”

Bruce nodded firmly. No need for phones or computers for this one. He raised his voice only slightly. “Clark! I need you and Conner, here in Gotham. It’s about Tim.”

Not a full minute later, a **_WHOOSHING!_** sound accompanied the rush of wind as a dual complement of Kryptonians arrived, blowing open the kitchen’s huge picture window.

“What’s going on with Tim?” Conner Kent demanded.

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“Hood, I wish to ask you a question” Damian ventured uncertainly during a lull in their patrol later that night, contemplating his vegan wrap. Robin and the brother who irritated him the second most were grabbing a snack mid-patrol on the roof of a parking garage. It had been a fairly slow night, only two muggings, foiling a robbery at a grocery store and a botched car- jacking to break up the monotony. The bumbling, would-be car jacker had actually come away from his almost crime more the worse for wear than the potential “victim” a nurse who’d worked a forty-eight- hour shift on the frontline’s at Gotham General. In no mood to deal with conspiracy theory morons after the long, long hours in a ward overflowing with sick, and in too many cases, dying, Coronavirus patients and having to do it with PPE she’d had to clean and reuse, scrambling to find enough ventilators… Some covidiot sticking a gun in her face yelling about how COVID-19 was a fake and he needed the money from selling her car to prove it was the last straw. Nurse Helen pulled her own gun and shot the fool. In the foot, she **_was_** a nurse. Red Hood and Robin showing up to check on her, that made her night a little better. Hood had all those muscles of his, tall with those broad shoulders…and Helen wasn’t a nurse twenty-four hours a day. Daydreaming about the Hood without his…helmet had gotten Helen thru many a rough night on the ward.

“What is it, Damian?” Jason asked, taking another bite of his meatball sub. It was messy but delicious. The pair’s spare nitrile gloves, N95 masks and respirators and Jason’s helmet lay to the side. Dick had allowed the team up after receiving Damian’s way too solemn an oath for a thirteen- year old that, “of course I can put our argument aside Richard, I am Robin, you know!”

Damian threw the uneaten remainder of his wrap to the hungry pigeons and turned to face Jason. “The, the_ on the monitor this morning, who,” the boy swallowed hard and gathered his courage. Thrusting his chin in the air, “My mother” he tried again in a vastly diminished voice, “who was the man with my mother? Is he one of the people trying to hurt Timothy? Is my mother helping them?” he finally choked out.

Hood groaned inaudibly. Why’d the brat have to ask that now? Why couldn’t he wait until the Golden Hemorrhoid was around to start sweating his mommy issues. Jason’d just have to do his best, he supposed. “Look, kid_”

“Robin, Red Hood, come in” Nightwing broke in over the comm, rescuing him from an immediate answer. 

“What is it, dickhead?” Jason asked, sounding a lot more irritated than he actually was.

“If you two can tear yourselves away from whatever you’re doing_” Dick sounded breathless, as if he were moving fast and transmitting at the same time. “I just interrupted a truck hijacking and I could use a little backup. Oooo!”

Alarmingly, Jason picked up the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons fire in the background of the transmission. Of course, Dickie had stumbled into the middle of a violent gang of hijackers, because, well, Dick.

In a blink, Robin was at the Red Hood’s side, overhearing the call for help, trying not to panic at the thought of Dick being used for target practice by gun toting thugs.

“Conversation’s gonna hafta wait kid” he told Damian, as both readied their grapples. “Where are you, Nightwing?” Jason questioned urgently.

“The far side do_” Dick started to answer before being drowned out by more weapons fire, an AR-15 from the sound of it, or Jason didn’t know his auto guns. “The far side docks” Dick said, “By pier 39, by that funky warehouse that’s practical-“ more fire, “practically falling in on itself.”

“On the way” Jason promised. “Let’s get after it, D!” he said. Jason donned his helmet, Damian his N95 and spare gear, then both fired their grapple guns, and swung out into the night, racing to their eldest brother’s aid.

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The two younger vigilantes arrived just in time to see the semi Nightwing was truck surfing smash cab first into a steel wall of the dilapidated warehouse on pier 39. Anyone else would have been thrown into the icy waters of Gotham Harbor. Not Nightwing. Jason watched, half disgusted, half admiring, as his acrobatic eldest brother made a series of complicated twists in mid-air, came down and did, and…Jason swears he’s not making this stuff up, an actual **SUPERHERO** landing on the pier, swear to Batman, an honest to the Dark Knight Superhero landing, coming down on one fist and one knee, the other side balanced by a single escrima stick.

Acting as if he’d just wowed an adoring crowd, Dick flashed his brothers what Jason knew had to be a toothy grin underneath his protective N95 mask. “Welcome to the jungle my dudes!” he yelled over the sound of gunfire and wreckage. A splatter of fire from one of the bad guy’s AK’s perforated the rusted steel debris behind him.

“Get down, you imbecile. You are not bulletproof!” yelled Damian, making his way to Nightwing’s side.

“We need to neutralize those guns!” Dick shouted.

“Really?” Jason responded acidly, “I’d have never thought of that! Thanks, oh your high and mighty dickness!” he waxed sarcastic. Focusing on what he could see without showing too much of himself, Red Hood took aim and kneecapped a couple of gang members who’d thought their superior firepower meant they were in control of the situation. Real bullets, so kneecaps, not headshots. Nobody ever let him have any fun anymore.

Damian decided to take advantage of the momentary lull to launch a direct attack. Before either of the other two realized what he was about, the teen leapt forward with a battle cry, katana extended.

“AAAHHH!” the boy yelled, rebounding off a huge wooden crate and coming down on the shoulders of a surprised thug. Wrapping a leg around the man’s throat from behind, Damian used the flat of his katana like a blunt instrument, hammering the crown of his victim’s head savagely, stunning him. Sensing movement he could not see, Robin jabbed the weapon’s tsuka behind him, nailing the man’s onward rushing comrade directly in the face, painfully but effectively rendering the recipient of his tactic unconscious. Damian jumped free as both thugs fell to the ground.

“Robin!” Nightwing yelled, rushing to the boy’s side. “You shouldn’t have done that!” Dick screamed, trying to force his heart back into its right position and cover Damian with his body at the same time. “You’re not bulletproof either, you know little brother!”

“I can take of myself!” Damian returned hotly, shrugging him off irritably. “I know very well what I am doing!” he contended, refusing to admit any fault.

“Take out bad guys now, bitchfest later!” Jason shouted, redirecting his brother’s attention to the business at hand.

A well aimed batarang flew from Nightwing’s fingers to knock another hijacker unconscious and allow him to move in closer, Damian at his side. Jason had kneecapped yet another, then took out one more in a ferocious hand to hand fight. Six more of the gang members appeared to surround the Bats, several of them shooting as they came. The three brothers ducked and covered behind whatever shelter was available.

“Keep ‘em busy, Hood” Dick muttered sotto-voice as he crept forward in a crouch. He kept Damain by his side, wanting to keep the youngest bat closer after the boy’s earlier stunt.

Jason obliged, rising at odd intervals to fire off rounds at the wary attackers. Hood’s aim was good. He put a round in a shoulder, causing the others to back off, straight into the waiting fists and feet of Nightwing and Robin, who attacked without mercy, quickly rendering the balance of the hoodlums insensate. All the criminals were quickly in restraints, bleeding and moaning in most cases, awaiting the arrival of GCPD.

Dick headed for the back of the ruined semi, the cargo of which had been so recently fought over. What was so valuable these cretins were out in the middle of a pandemic to try and move it? Re-donning his facial protection, he waited for his brothers to do the same and worked the latch of the trailer to open it. The huge steel doors swung wide, and he climbed in to see… Damn, naturally, he thought after prying open one of the wooden crates with WE’s logo stamped on the side.

“What is it?” The question came from Damian. “What is the cargo, Nightwing?”

“See for yourself, Robin” Dick answered, giving his brother a mostly unneeded hand up into the truck’s hold.

“Are those what I think they are?” Damian inquired.

“Yes, they’re exactly what you think they are little brother” Dick responded. He was tired, very tired, but this stop turned his night into a really good one.

“What’s in there, already?” Jason demanded to know.

“Come see for yourself bro” Nightwing said, stepping aside to give Jason room to do just that. All three Wayne’s nodded in satisfaction at the sight of a truck full of ventilators, worth more than gold these days on the black market and just about anywhere else.

“You think these are some of the ones Timmy arranged for?” Jason asked.

Dick shrugged. “Probably. If I know Tim, these are only the tip of the iceberg.”

“We have to get these to Gotham General” Damian remarked.

“GCPD will take care of that, and them” Dick pointed his chin at the groaning, beaten gang they’d just taken out. The sound of distant sirens told them the cops weren’t far away. “Right now, we need to be going. Meet you back at the cave! Last one’s a rotten Riddler!” Dick yelled, firing his grapple at the nearest target.

“Hey! Such tactics are beneath you, Richard!” Damian shouted, outraged, as he shot his own grapple gun, following his brother.

“No names in the field!” Dick answered back, laughing. The N95 did nothing to deaden his carefree jibe.

Jason could hear Damian swearing furiously in Arabic as, shaking his head, pulled the trigger on his grapple to follow.

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Batman surveyed the alien skyline, a surreal feeling encompassing his being at the site of unfamiliar landmarks. At his side, Black Bat was an ebon spirit, his daughter, as always, lending a wordless underpinning to whatever plan her father chose to unfold. He’d known slipping into London incognito in the guise of Bruce Wayne was impossible, so bypassed such a waste of time entirely and entered the city as the Caped Crusader outright. It was odd that he’d thought of that title for himself now. Presently he wore no cape and his customary utility belt and bat-eared cowl were also missing. The hard and soft Kevlar of his suit was its usual inky black, but more along the lines of the costume affected by Nightwing, with pockets and inserts for the necessary weapons and tools of his trade and a mask that covered the front and sides of his face, protecting his eyes and ears, and leaving the lower part of his face clad in anti-viral protective wear. It also had a tear-away covering the very recognizable Bat symbol on his chest. Cass was similarly attired for this mission. They’d try to stay hidden for as long as possible, but eventually, in order to connect with Tim, they’d have to emerge from the shadows. Until that inevitably happened, their identities needed to remain a mystery as much as they were able to all but Red Robin and Kingsman. Bruce was confident that he’d left Gotham in more than capable hands, but it would be an especially bad time for the city’s criminals and rogues, the clown for sure, to realize Batman was out of town. Dick could appear in the almost deserted streets in Bruce’s stead as the Dark Knight only so many times before Gotham’s criminals, large and small, realized they were dealing with a different Batman. The city’s crooks were many things, but stupid was not one of them. Bruce wanted to find his son quickly and get back home.

Bridging the distance from Gotham City to London had been a matter of minutes not hours after enlisting the aid of Clark and Conner Kent. Superman carried his JLA teammate while Conner had cradled Cass, shielding her from the effects of near full speed flight by the use of tactile telekinesis. Conner’s special connection to Tim had been able to pinpoint that his son was nearby. The heartbeat signature felt a little weird, Conner said, almost like Tim was inside some sort of echo chamber, but he was close. Bruce meant to close that gap. Despite their last communication, he refused to consider that he might be too late. Tim was alive and he was well, and Bruce and Cass were going to find him. Kingsman take care of my boy, was his unspoken plea. Watch his back, his front and every other part of him until I can. Please. It hadn’t taken a lot to persuade Clark to return to Metropolis. That city needed its own guardian more than ever now. Conner had been more difficult to convince, but the argument that Lois, and his younger brother Jonathan in Metropolis and his grandparents, Jonathan and Martha Kent in Smallville might need him was enough to draw him reluctantly back across the pond. The Batfamily and their Kingsman confederates were on their own.

The five- hour time difference between the two cities helped. Most Londoners were asleep, having crawled into bed with the satisfaction of having made it thru another day in their strange new world. Then there were the sick, some of which would not live to see another day and some who would but were too ill to realize it. The doctors, nurses, first responders and scientists doing war upon the enemy in this new kind of conflict contested fiercely for every life, unwilling to concede even one. As Bruce and Cass ghosted noiselessly thru the streets of the capital city, he had tremendous confidence in those foot soldiers. These people had seen likes of the black plague, the Great Fire and the Luftwaffe and they were still standing. Coronavirus _would_ be overcome. The spirit of those arrayed against it did not allow otherwise.

Batman counted on that spirit now to be the shield Tim needed until his father and sister were able to take over. According to Conner Kent, the missing RR was close to where Bruce and Cass now crouched unseen. Across the street from what appeared to be a ubiquitous high end Saville Row tailor’s shop, Bruce peered thru the large window emblazoned in gold. Kingsman Tailors looked innocuous enough, but according to Oracle and Superboy, looks, in this case were very, very deceiving.

Batman started to rise out of his crouch to dart across the rain soaked cobblestones but was stopped by Black Bat’s light touch on his wrist. Placing one finger to her masked covered lips, Cass gave a minute shake of her head. Had he been less attuned to any of his children’s behaviors and actions in this type of situation, he might have misread it. Cass lowered her head like a big cat selecting a target on the African plain. Bruce had no need to see her white lens covered eyes to know they were focused on an area immediately adjacent to the tailor’s shop. He concentrated on the same area. The darkness shifted, swirled, solidified, moving sinuously, soundlessly. He watched the shapes until they morphed into human form, black clad and chillingly familiar. Ninja. Ra’s Al Ghul’s ninja were here, and there could be no doubt as to why. Ra’s killers swarmed into the shop, disappearing into its interior. He had no way to know these were the second wave.

Blink fast, Cass swiveled and struck out in the darkness behind her, eliciting a faint indication of pain from her mark. She followed her initial attack with a fist to the throat of her target that would have incapacitated had it been successful. But, as rare as the Joker in a sane moment, Cass’s blow actually missed, the man sized shadow opposing her rolling to narrowly avoid the punch. Collapsing onto her back, Black Bat whipsawed up from the pavement of the alley to wrap both muscular legs around the throat of her traducer, applying a paralyzing chokehold. Twisting her body, she forced her antagonist to turn with her, resulting in, for him, what was almost certainly an excruciating face plant on the hard surface of the alleyway. Displaying an exceptional ability to hang tough, the man was not knocked out and came back at her, thrusting an elbow backwards, aiming for her rib cage. Had it been anyone else, it might have worked, but this was Cassandra Cain-Wayne, daughter of the Bat. He pushed up off the pavement aggressively to renew hostilities. Her patience was at an end. Respective of her father’s wishes and her own life vow, she would not kill but that was the only quarter she was prepared to cede. Black Bat drew back her fist for a hard strike to finish the fight. Bruce halted her with a muffled prohibition.

“Black Bat, no! Stop!”

Bruce had realized a nanosecond after Cass that they were no longer alone in their surveillance of the unassuming storefront. Rotating to confront the danger, he’d become instantly aware that the person confronting him was a woman and also that she was not dressed as one of Ra’s murderous followers. Blocking a side chop to her neck, Batman’s female assaulter did not quite miss the knee to her sternum as she was coming in for a punch to his face. Backing off to regroup, clutching what was now probably one or more bruised ribs, her eyes widened suddenly in understanding. Her strident exclamation coinciding with Bruce’s.

“Perce! No!” Her companion, about to try for a crippling kick at Cass’s knee, stilled, trust for a teammate’s judgment overriding instincts.

Breathing heavily from the exertions of the fight, all four combatants took a step back, evaluating one another.

Finally, the woman who had only seconds before striven to best him addressed Bruce. “Batman, I assume” she stated with a clipped British public school accent.

“And you are?” Bruce growled.

Her mouth took on a droll twist. “Call me Lancelot” she replied.

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“I’d imagine you’d like to see your son, Batman” the Kingsman agent introduced to him as Percival stated to Bruce. “We’ll take you and your, er, friend to him now, shall we?” Percival’s demeanor was so pleasant it was almost as if the violent tussle in the alley had never happened.

Bruce declined to give them Cass’s name and neither agent asked. He got the feeling they wanted to know who she was and why she was here with Batman, but knew better than to ask outright. That they had the discipline not to raised Kingsman’s stock a notch or two in his eyes. It also solidified his belief that Kingsman knew way more about himself and the Bats than they let on. He was prepared to let all that go for now. Linking up with Tim was more important. The ace up Bruce’s kevlar lined sleeve was his daughter. Black Bat’s almost unearthly ability at reading body language and emotions made her practically a virtual if not literal telepath. With her at his side, he stood to learn as much or more about Kingsman than they already knew about him or his family.

To his surprise, they headed away from the tailor shop, not towards it. “I thought you were taking us to Tim” he objected. “Why aren’t we going there?” Batman asked, tipping his head in the direction of Kingsman Tailors. “That’s where Tim is.”

“No, that’s where he _was”_ corrected Lancelot. “If I know that tricky scoundrel Arthur, your boy’s miles from here by now” she told Tim’s family. “Follow us.”

As they hurried away, “What about them, your visitors?” Bruce wanted to know, meaning the ninja invading Kingsman’s London front.

Lancelot’s eyes took on a feral cast in the faint light. “Oh, not to worry” she responded knowingly. “That issue is being handled even as we speak.”

And it was, too. Unbeknownst to Batman, Ra’s Al Ghul’s ninjas were experiencing a much worse reception than they’d imagined upon entering the banal seeming menswear store. Kingsman had made a few upgrades following Richmond Valentine’s attempted infiltration and Poppy Adams’s blitzkrieg style murder spree. Traps and obstacles, lethal or nonlethal in nature depending upon the threat level assessed, and able to be remotely triggered by Arthur, wherever he may be, hindered and harassed their way as they pressed down a path they had been deliberately enticed to take. Eight ninja had entered over the course of the last several hours. Five of them were already dead and the remaining trio faced the “rock and a hard place” decision of whether to go back or go on. Trapped in the nightmare of their very own killer version of a Home Alone movie, they quickly concluded they had no choice but to continue. After all, they’d faced deadly mazes before in their training as league assassins. It was sort of what they’d signed up for, one pointed out. He took a step, his foot came down on the parquet square and he was promptly impaled thru the throat by a steel arrow moving faster than he could. And then there were two. 

“I’m getting out of here” declared one, determining that retracing their path might be a better idea since whatever booby traps waiting along that line had already been sprung, right? Well, no, he found out minutes later. In his attempts to find a safe way out, the unlucky fellow stumbled into a room with several neatly made cots, a small footlocker at the end of each bed. Curiously, there seemed to be a two- way mirror at one end of the room. Wait, why were his feet wet? He looked down to see water rising from beneath the floor?! What the hell? The room began to fill with water as his efforts at escape became more frenzied. Nothing he tried worked! But he had to get out of here!! He had to!! He had a secret, a weakness. Something he had not yet revealed to anyone, not even his Master, lest it be perceived as a fault and result in him being separated from his head. His master did not tolerate imperfection. He should have spoken up, he thought miserably, maybe he could have talked his way off of the executioner’s block. Bought himself time to correct the defect. It was a moot point now. A horribly ironic moot point, he thought as the water slowly closed in over his head. He couldn’t swim.

And then there was one. But not for long. - **RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR**

_“Master Bruce” Alfred spoke, drawing all eyes to the staircase, “I’ve been waiting breakfast for all but Master Jason. He’s walking in the garden. He appears to be somewhat shaken” the old man commented, worried._

_“A trade, your son for access to these Lazarus Pits” Harry contributed, then turned away to receive a transmission from the comm in his ear. Whatever the Kingsman leader heard he didn’t like._

_“We’re coming now Alfred. Thank you” Bruce acknowledged. “We’ll have to pick this up_” he never got a chance to complete the rest of the sentence._

_“We have to move, NOW!” Harry Hart commanded, grabbing Tim’s bicep, pulling him out of his chair. “Mr. Wayne, we’ll continue this later.”_

_“What is it?” Bruce yelled, anxiety gripping him, “What’s going on?!”_

_“Rest assured, Kingsman will take good care of your son” Harry answered. Tim got in one last startled look before being pushed ahead of Hart out of the room._

_“Tim! Tim!” Bruce yelled. A sullen rumbling sound overshadowed his frantic shouts and the London conference room on his screen began to fill with a hazy smoke. “Tim!!” But there was no response._

He knew both Kingsman were armed beyond what weapons were visible. Even if he objected, which he didn’t, Tim figured he was hardly in a position to criticize. These ferociously capable men and women whom he barely knew were willingly placing themselves between him and Ra’s Al Ghul and the Everest Council, clearly another group of people with a god complex. Tim sighed wearily. There seemed to be no end to them. It made him tired just thinking about it.

After receiving the warning thru the comm in his ear that Kingsman was receiving unwelcomed visitors, Harry had grabbed Tim and hustled him out of the room without explanation. Tim didn’t waste time or breath asking. A Bat knew when to question and when to shut up and fly. Eggsy and Merlin joined them as he and Harry Hart navigated their way at a run thru the labyrinthine confusion of Kingsman’s subterranean headquarters. Harry and Eggsy kept Tim in the middle, human shields between him and any approaching trouble.

“Here!” Hart yelled, stopping in front of what looked at first glance to be an ordinary door, but was protected by optical and DNA scanners and a digital code that changed every twelve hours. Tim took a couple of seconds to drool mentally over the security. Maybe when this was all over, he, Merlin and Oracle could revisit the setup. Tim was kind of a fool for great security.

Once inside, Arthur used an authorization code he carried only in his head to cause the side walls to slide away, revealing rows of items, some of which appeared to be the harmless accessories any sharply dressed man carried on his person and some were weapons, plain and simple. The Kingsman were busily selecting different objects. The guns made sense, the cigarette lighters, signet rings, gold ball point pens, and a set of what appeared to be some sort of long gel packs less so, but Tim was disconcerted when Unwin elected to grab the most unlikely thing of all, an umbrella. Eggsy also tossed one to Harry. Red knew how well an umbrella could be more than an umbrella, but this reminded him very uncomfortably of a certain tuxedo loving Gotham rouge. Shades of the Penguin. Shut up and fly, he told himself. Now armed to their satisfaction, his hosts and protectors led Tim further, making one stop at a lab indicated by Merlin. Grabbing a black wand that looked exactly like something TSA used to hand scan passengers boarding a flight, Merlin passed the instrument completely down the front of Tim and then bid him turn and repeated the process behind him. The tech wiz then input something into his phone and repeated what he’d done with Tim on Eggsy and Arthur, and then himself. He nodded at the Kingman boss. They made a lightning trip to medical to grab more COVID defensive gear, and surprise, surprise, a supply of the antibiotics Tim needed to take on a daily basis, then they were clear.

“Very good, gentlemen, let’s be off shall we?” he urged, moving out.

Tim balked briefly, throwing a glance at the ceiling, asking without asking about the hostiles seeking him on the upper floors.

“Not to worry” Eggsy assured him, correctly interpreting the look. “It’s taken care of mate” he supplied, cocky. Kingsman security was second to none. Uninvited guests received a hellish welcome. Served the wankers right as far as Eggsy was concerned.

“They’re going to figure out pretty fast I’m not here anymore” Tim felt obligated to mention as they ran. This was his escape too, and shut and fly philosophy or not, he felt it was only right to point certain things out.

“No” Merlin informed him with a sort of shy smile. “That’s what the wand was for. It read your bio signature, heartbeat, heat signature, all of that. If someone is tracking you using that method, the process I just initiated and sent to our system via my mobile will project a spectral reading that shows you still here somewhere on the premises, long after you’ve gone” he explained. 

Oh, Tim thought. OooHHH. Well, OK then. He shook his head admiringly. “Lead on.”

Arthur did. Punching another code into another door, it slid open to reveal a plain, dimly lit passage they traversed quickly. One last door. Switching positions to allow Eggsy to take the lead, a code was entered. The barrier slid open to a grassy area approximately a meter wide bordered by trees. Looking skyward, Tim couldn’t see very much. It was a misty night. Ready for a hostile reception, they were relieved when none awaited them.

“Let’s proceed, gentlemen” Harry told the group calmly. And so, they did.

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Nerve strike to immobilize. Another blow to take target out of the fight for good. On to the next attacker. Check. Lather, rise, repeat. Tim was on auto now. That’s how long he, Eggsy Unwin, Harry Hart and James (Merlin), who for a tech and computer nerd, (two terms Tim also claimed proudly for himself, by the way) was proving very good at kicking ass and not bothering with the names, had been under siege. Ninja after ninja poured thru the windows and doors of the country estate that reminded Tim so keenly of Wayne Manor that he’d halfway expected Alfred to materialize complete with English breakfast tea and a plate of cookies.

How they’d been found so soon after fleeing the Saville Row shop no one had a clue yet, but they had and now Ra’s Al Ghul’s minions flooded in, tenacious and unrelenting. They’d come for Tim, and they intended to keep coming until they had him. The only reason Tim was not already in their hands bound and unresisting and on his way to their master was the fiery resistance of himself, Unwin, who’s Kingsman code name Tim had learned was Galahad, Hart, Merlin and other Kingsman operatives who’d happened to be on hand. A potent combo of Kingsman tech, firepower and home field advantage had so far tipped the odds in favor of Team Tim, but that was slowly but steadily being whittled away by the unremitting numbers being forced upon them. How had their refuge been discovered so quickly? How had Ra’s known where to direct his killer guerillas? No time for that now, Tim berated himself internally, as he took out another assailant. A second to take a ragged breath and another ninja soldier took the place of the man (woman? It was hard to tell with them all wrapped up like that, and besides, Tim was under a little pressure right now, ok?) who’s job it was to drag him off to the immortal perv. He fought on. _And they just kept coming._

What Red Robin, Eggsy and the others did not know was that the eight ninja that stormed the tailor’s shop had been the biggest losers. **Nine** ninjas had been sent on the mission to “retrieve their master’s property” but it had been strategized once arriving on the scene that one should remain behind to observer and report. Several quick rounds of rock, paper, scissors later, and the lucky winner was chosen. From his vantage point, high up enough to encompass a fair amount of the area, he’d seen his master’s “detective” and those shielding him make their exit into the woods nearby. When none of his comrades emerged to follow, he’d realized he was the lone survivor. He didn’t bother mourning his lost associates. Life in the league didn’t really promote BFF’s. His job was to report back to Ra’s. That’s what he did while also keeping the “detective” and those absconding along with him in his sights. Trailing them to the bucolic acreage of the safe house was League of Assassins 101. His task done, report filed, he sat back and waited for reinforcements. They had arrived, and it was time to clock in again.

Eggsy was wishing he’d grabbed more gold lighter grenades. He was starting to run low. These ninja buggers were not nearly as afraid of dying as they were of the man who’d sent them. This Ra’s Al Ghul must be mad as a box of frogs. Eggy put down one more intruder with a shot to the carotid. The doomed victim fell away, blood spurting.

Tim, witnessing the death during a second’s worth of daylight, might normally have had some objections to killing, but all things being equal, right now, nuh uh. The ninjas did what they did, and they got what they got. Moving on. His side had one thing going for them Ra’s did not. The ninjas were obviously under orders to bring Tim to their leader as unharmed as possible. Red was able to use this factor in his and Merlin’s favor when he spied an assassin sailing a razor edged shuriken directly at the young whiz kid. The ninja’s reluctance to cause Tim serious harm gave Red more freedom of movement. Tim whipped around in a blur to bring up his borrowed quarterstaff. He deflected the whirling blade so expertly that it spun off his weapon of choice and buried itself in the collarbone of its owner, who gave an agonized wheeze, staggered and fell to his knees. He was kicked aside by one of his compatriots, hell-bent on fulfilling Ra’s Al Ghul’s command. This latest menace moved in on Tim, dark eyes predatory. All around them things continued to deteriorate for RR and his small band of defenders. The noose was definitely tightening around them. There were just too enemies for he and his Kingsman allies to hold out much longer. They were being overwhelmed.

As he vanquished yet another adversary, rendering the man unconscious with a blow the temple, the part of his brain that always seemed to remain divorced from the action clued him to a shift in the tide of battle. To the rear of the attacking army of ninja, alarm calls began to ring out among the black garbed assassins, who suddenly found themselves fighting a two-front war. The attacking force was being attacked from behind! More Kingsman? Tim didn’t know and didn’t care. All that mattered right now was that these new players seemed be on the side of the angels, so to speak. Good enough. The ratio of friend to foe quickly took a dramatic turn for the better until only a handful of Ra’s invading force remained. To no one’s surprise, to the last, they refused to be taken alive, choosing instead to die by their own hands. Fine by Tim. He was bloody, exhausted, had a knot on his head from an early luck shot, resulting in a headache, and was and immensely relieved to know he was not going to wake up from a drugged sleep in a desert palace wearing silk pajamas anytime soon, and that his new Kingsman friends were going to live to fight another day. After about twenty seconds of dog-tired, unadulterated relief, his legs abruptly decided they were thru holding him up and he began to slide slowly down the wall behind him, eyes closed. Two pairs of hands, one on either side, caught him, halting his unscheduled meeting with the cool marble floor. He opened his eyes and gasped.

“B! C-Black Bat!” he exclaimed in shock and joy. He hugged his sister tightly, which she returned, smiling beneath her mask. Red’s head slewed around to take in the incredible form of his adoptive father and mentor a second time, then he frowned. “B” he started in a perplexed tone, “What the heck are you wearing?” he questioned, then promptly passed out cold.

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END of Part 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I totally stole the term “covidiot” from an article I read on my phone about some lady who CUT A HOLE IN HER MASK FOR HER MOUTH BECAUSE “IT MAKES IT EASIER TO BREATHE.” Seriously, what passes for brain cells with these people?


	6. If It's A Joke, How Come No One's Laughing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are plots and plans all over the place.

**Chapter 6- If It’s A Joke, How Come Nobody’s Laughing?**

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Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, he who could (Ra’s considered Death a sore loser. Death could not be reached for comment) not die, was having a bad morning. Word had come to him in whispers in the far reaches of the night, tinged by fear. Failure. The London mission had ended in a miserable failure. Even worse, his young protégé and successor, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, was now safely returned to the bosom of his so-called “family.” Ra’s nemesis, Bruce Wayne wrapped in the pretense of the Batman, the man the Demon’s Head originally called “detective”, came personally to collect the boy, and return him to that cesspool of crime and disease, Gotham City.

Ra’s hand clenched in frustration. He beat his fist upon the dark oak of the antique desk, rattling the porcelain cup that held his afternoon tea, spilling the hot liquid and causing it to run all over the surface. The ninja who’s task it presently was to wait upon her master moved in swiftly to remove the empty cup and its attendant saucer and clear away the offending liquid. She did not make a sound. Not one. Invisible and deft, she erased all evidence of the bout of ill temperament and fled, grateful to have escaped with her life.

Her comrade, who had been initiated along side her into the League, couldn’t say the same. Schmuck drew the short straw and got to be the one to wake up Ra’s Al Ghul and tell the Demon’s Head that London was a bust. Demon Boss Baby hadn’t taken the news _at all_ well. The remains of the ill-starred messenger now rested at the bottom of a pit of calcium oxide, decomposing. It worked out the same for them that none of those sent to England to retrieve their master’s heir had survived to return to the League. It was a big pit, room for lots of bodies. She’d seen it.

Ra’s stood and stepped outside into the bracing air of pre-evening, contemplating the serene atmosphere of the Scottish countryside from the private balcony attached to the quarters afforded him by Alison MacLeod. He smiled, cold and thin, fully aware that his uninvited presence within the walls of her highland’s nestled home was a grating indignity she dared not object to. He’d told no one he was coming. He’d simply shown up unannounced in the middle of the afternoon, trailing ninjas behind him, and instructed that suitable quarters be procured for himself and his retinue. Thus, his current residence in a suite within Monadh Castle that the MacLeod woman no doubt considered to be palatial. For Ra’s it was…eh. It was of no import. He’d wanted to be nearby when Timothy was brought to him. But that was not to be, not at this time. Ra’s was forced to exorcise his wrath by executing the man who dared disturb him with such discomfiting news. Co-opting Alison MacLeod to assist with disposal of the body amused him and reminded her of her subordinate position, something he was aware she was having difficulty accepting. Hammering home these little life lessons periodically relaxed him and eliminated complications later. He motioned to the nearby ninja and gave instructions for Alison MacLeod to be brought to him. He meditated, silent, studying the ruggedly beautiful landscape, the jagged, green carpeted hillsides falling away at sharp angles, rushing to meet the deep blue loch far below.

“Well, what is it?” she harped imperiously once she arrived. He made her wait, and wait, and wait, until, finally, his ear picked up an irritable snuffle that indicated he had won the battle of wills. Judging her to be sufficiently humbled for the time being, he turned, regarding her from beneath lowered lids with his frosted emerald stare.

“What” she began hoarsely, stopped, then tried again, attempting to salvage a measure of her composure. “What do you require, Mr. Al Ghul? You are my guest. How may I assist you?” she asked, trying to clear her throat as quietly as possible.

Ra’s allowed her a sliver of the chilly smile of earlier and chuckled inwardly at her futile effort to hide a shudder.

“I require that you summon your fellow Council members. Plans have changed and there is much to discuss.” He turned his back again, dismissing her.

“Why, why, that is not possible!” she protested shrilly. “Under these circumstances, the travel restrictions, the danger to our health, it simply is impossible!” MacLeod did not quite shout before recovering. One did not shout at this man, she reminded herself, reasserting her internal control. Not if one wanted to live, a fact that fool Ainsley neglected to give sufficient respect. “The, the pandemic, COVID-19-“

He turned and stared her down again, this time fire in his gaze. “-is less than nothing to me” he halted her frightened excuses indifferently. It was a not so subtle reminder of the Lazarus Pits at his disposal, the very reason the Everest Council found themselves pinned under his thumb like bugs to a board. “There are things which need to be decided. Strategies that need to be finalized. See to it. Find a way.” He looked away, done with the conversation with his most reluctant hostess.

Alison MacLeod, used to treating others with the same regal disdain to which she had just been treated, knew when to cut her losses. Her dignity was not worth her life, and, she reasoned, there _were_ those wonderfully restorative Lazarus Pits to think of. With as much decorum as she could muster, she withdrew. These arrangements were going to be such a, well to be crass, a pain.

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Tim cracked open the lid of one Jasper blue eye to find himself alone in the quarantined section of the Batcave’s medical bay. As a matter of fact, it appeared he was alone in the cave period. Craning his neck to take a look around confirmed it. Yep, not another living soul in sight. Seventy-two hours. Three interminable days. That’s how long Tim had been sleeping on a pressure mattress behind the glass walls of the cave’s isolation unit, following results that had determined he remained Coronavirus free. B and Cass had been cleared after 48. He had too, but Bruce insisted that Tim wait the extra day. Tim’s suspicious about his father’s motives in asking Tim for the extra hours, powerful suspicious. Wait, did he just think those last two words in a Texas cowboy drawl? Ok, time get out of bed and back to his life. Alfred’s meals and the Red Bull’s and coffee Jason kept him supplied with helped a lot, but if he was starting to free-associate in Lone Star twang, the last week might be starting to take a toll on his brain cells.

He yawned, stretched, and reached for a pair of the fluffy Sherpa socks Alfred kept stocked in the med bay. He’d never admit it out loud, on pain of death, but his feet loved these stupid socks. They were comfortable and warm and made dealing with the Batcave’s varied floorings much easier, especially after a sparring session, and they were non-skid and made his toes happy. And for him, well, not just for him, but mainly for him, Alfred made it a point to keep a supply of red ones on hand. Some of ‘em had little teeny tiny R’s and yellow crosses all over ‘em that resembled miniscule bandoliers. Alfred Pennyworth is soooo cool, right?

Anyway, getting back to the extra quarantine hours for Red, it was time to get Bruce down here for a little mano a mano. B man had some batsplainin’ to do. Tim knew that his extended stay in this little corner of paradise had more to do with Bruce’s nerves about Tim’s missing spleen than it did about any fears that his third son had COVID-19 swimming around in his system. They needed to put those anxieties to rest, cause, really, ain’t nobody got time for that. He had something important to work on. Something he didn’t want to talk about yet cause it was kind of out there, but something that, if it worked like he hoped it would, could turn out to be a real game changer. He needed to get back to it now more than ever. Also, he hated being treated different from the others. It made his teeth itch. Alright, he bounced up and down on his toes. Let’s do this thang. Tim marshalled his debate skills, rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and hit the intercom button. He tried the kitchen first, hoping he got Alfred. If anyone in the family could help Tim persuade Bruce into letting him out of containment hell, it’d have to be Alfie. His plan hit the skids almost immediately.

“What do you want, Drake?”

Damian. Oh joy. Tim was aware the kid no longer had a poisoned dagger hidden in his room with the name _Timothy Jackson Drake_ on it anymore. And maybe now Damian didn’t lay awake at nights rubbing his hands together, cackling and plotting Tim’s annihilation, but there was still not much love lost between the youngest brothers. He certainly didn’t feel he was able to count Damian as an ally towards getting himself sprung from solitary.

“Some of us have lives to get back to” Damian continued. “We don’t have all day to lay around in our sweats playing _Up the Wall_ ” the boy cracked derisively.

“How did you-you know what, never mind” Tim answered. Stay focused, Drake. Eyes on the prize. “I need to talk to Bruce” he said evenly.

“Father is in the middle of a virtual board meeting” Damian informed him, “he can hardly tear himself away from important Wayne Enterprises business because you feel the need for a chat, Drake.”

In and out. In and out, Tim coached himself. Eyes on the prize, Eyes on the prize, Eyes on the prize, he chanted. He was doubly glad now that he’d deactivated the med bay cameras in a minor act of rebellion. He’d have never been able to pull off begging Damian for help if he had to look the little dear in the eye. “It’s, um, how about this? Can I ask you to do me a favor and find Alfred for me? Please, Damian, I’d really appreciate it.” Tim let a smidge of begging seep into his voice. Jason might know how to be annoying, but when it came to verbal manipulation, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne was king of the world.

“ **UUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!** ”, as if Damian were the most put- upon human being alive at present came thru the intercom. “Very well, Drake. If it will release me from this tedious, soporific conversation, I shall attempt to locate Pennyworth on your behalf. Don’t wander away” the boy sneered.

Wander away? Wander away?! Now that was just mean. He had forty feet from one end of the iso-unit to the other. Where’s he gonna go? Never mind, Eyes on the prize, Eyes on the prize, Eyes on the prize. “I’ll stay right here, I promise.” Tim did his level best to sound earnest, not sarcastic. Hearing Damian’s footsteps retreating, he sagged. Fingers crossed, he waited.

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“What up, Baby Bird!” Jason’s gruff cigarette influenced greeting shook Tim from his half doze. Propped up against the door, slumped on a rolling stool, Jason’s voice startled him enough so that he jumped like a spooked cat. His seat upended and rolled out from under him, one of the legs whacking him in the head (STARS! Ow! Ow! OW!) and he ended up on the floor on his back with his hands and feet in the air like a turtle.

Jason, of course, found it hilarious. He guffawed, shamelessly relishing Tim’s humiliating flop. “Oh, did that hurt? Cause it looked like it hurt!!” Jason continued, laughing so hard tears formed at the corners of his eyes. 

“I hate you, Jay” Tim hissed “And it’s not that funny” he huffed. “I asked Damian to go find Alfred. Why did I get you instead?” he questioned crossly.

“We’ve already covered that” Jason reminded him. “No, you don’t, yes, it is and Alfred’s busy arranging a delivery to the front gate. Somebody’s gotta make sure we don’t run out of food and those energy drinks you love so much. By the way, those things taste like carbonated ass-crack.”

“How would you know what ass-crack tastes -no, don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know. Uh, Jay, listen, I really need to get out of here! Please, please, let me out, just let me out” Tim pleaded. “Alfred already said all our tests came back negative. We’re all clear. All three of us. There’s no reason for me to still be in here. Come on, open up, Please?”

“No can do, Baby Bird. B said not to, not yet” Jason countered smugly. He shook a cigarette loose from the pack but left it unlit. Forget Bruce, if he lit up anywhere close to the Cave’s med bay, he’d have to deal with Alfred, and Jason _did not want to do that._ Hood got serious. “Listen, Timmy, you know I live to get the old man’s bloomers in a knot, but maybe this one time, it’s not a bad idea for you to stay put. This Coronavirus, it’s killing healthy people. People with underlying medical conditions, like you…” he trailed off, suddenly reluctant to look Tim in the eye.

“No, no. Jason, look I was in London for months. I was careful. I took full precautions. I kept a strict med regimen. I social distanced. Used PPE. Did as much as I could virtually. All that time, I didn’t get sick. I was careful there and I can be careful here. But I can’t do what I have to do locked up in here away from-“ Tim broke off before his mouth ran away with him, but he was too late, he’d already said too much.

Being closer to Jason in general than the rest of his family, possibly excepting Cass, occasionally put Tim at a disadvantage. “Away from what, Baby Bird?” he asked, noting Tim’s suddenly evasive demeanor. “Away from what?” he repeated when Tim didn’t answer. “Look, kiddo, you want my help getting out of there, talk to me” he urged, aware that he had the upper hand. When Tim was still not forthcoming, Jason shrugged and turned to go up the stairs.

“Ok! Ok! Ok! You win, Jay. You win, Ok!” Tim blurted, embarrassed by giving in to such an obvious interrogation technique but desperate to keep his potential release moving in the right direction. “Look, I haven’t wanted to say anything for a lot of reasons. I mean, it’s so, I’m not-I don’t know if it will work-“ Tim had several false starts. He scrubbed his face with both his hands. “It’s just, this is so-if it works, Jay-“

“If what works, Timbo?” Jason asked softly, more encouraging than pushing. Most times with Tim, the carrot worked much better than the stick. This Jason had learned thru hard experience. Tim’s brain had rescued Red Hood and all the other Bats from many a tight spot, but it ran on a different track than most other people. “Tim?” Jason wasn’t exactly sure what was going to come out of his little brother’s mouth, but he expected big things. Timmy did not disappoint.

“Jay, please, you can’t say anything to Bruce, or Dick or anybody, not even Alfred! I’m so far from sure it’ll work and I’m sure as hell not sure how to ever test it, I mean, I think I’m close, really close, I’m just a little stuck right now, but, but, if…if if it does, if _they_ do what I’ve designed them to do-“

“Timmy” Jason coaxed, a tad more firmly, “just spit it out, ‘k? You’ll feel better not keeping it to yourself. Trust me, ok? You do, right?”

“You know I do” Tim told him. “Ok, you got it. Here it is.” Tim rubbed his chin with one hand, nervous. “Jay, I’ve been working on some nanite tech. If it works, if they work like I mean for them to, and we can find a way to get them to where they need to be” he looked into Jason’s blue-green eyes, seeing the other man patiently waiting. “Jay, I think the nanites will neutralize the effects of a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason’s blood froze. He stared at Tim, unmoving for several long seconds, then moved slowly away to crouch on his haunches. He leaned against a wall, running both hands thru his hair. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he gave one last hard exhale into his palms and then came back to the clear barrier.

“Ok, Timmy, explain. What do you mean by neutralize? What exactly would that, uh, entail?” Jason wanted to know. He was still reeling a bit from Tim’s mini-nuke of a claim. “What would these…nanites do?” He waited.

In for a penny, and all that Tim decided. Might as well go for it. The genie was out of the bottle. It was out too far to try and stuff it back in now. Oh, well, here goes. “Jay, if the nanites do what I want them to do, they’ll alter the chemical makeup of the Pit so that it won’t restore life, it won’t even heal. By the time these things finish working, a hot tub will do you more good.” Tim let the statement rest with no further elaboration.

Jason still looked stunned. He stared hard at Tim, look so intense Tim drew back slightly. I’m not going to like this, Tim guessed.

“Tim” Jason whispered, “You gotta tell B about this. You have to.”

Crap, Tim thought, sometimes I **_hate_** it when I’m right.

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For an argument conducted entirely in near whispers, the fight between Tim and Jason was a tornado. It spun around, touching down here, there, and everywhere, then lifting up and reforming, only to touch down again and wreak havoc in a different part of their sometimes weird, often prickly relationship. Emotions see-sawed but in the end, it came down to this: It was too late for Tim to backpedal. He’d already said too much. All Jason had to do was walk up the stairs, out of the cave and into Bruce’s study and there was not a damn thing Tim could do to stop him. And wasn’t that a kick in the head? Some strategic genius he’d turned out to be. Pffttt! Big mouth!

But, thankfully, he and Jason were a long way from the night Jason had broken into Titans Tower and beaten Tim bloody and unconscious. A very, very long way. So much so that Jason was willing to talk to Tim instead of Jason handling things as he saw fit the way he usually did. For once, Jason absolutely believed Bruce needed to know what one of his Robins was into, but he knew Tim needed to believe it too. Forcing Tim’s hand was more likely to blow up in Jason’s face than make anything better. He might not have been as adept with words as Tim, but he had plenty of experience with persuading victimized people to trust him, so, he kept coaxing Tim along, not aggressively, just nudging Tim where he knew his brother already wanted to go but was too frightened by his own brain to make the leap. That occasionally happened with Tim. Jason was intelligent, but sometimes Timmy was so smart he got in his own way.

Finally, just as he had with Eggsy Unwin in London, Tim made the only choice he really had. “Go ahead. Go on” he told Jason. “You better get Bruce and the others before I change my mind” he said. Jason hit the stairs like Superman. In and out, in and out. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Release it slowly, Tim. In and out. In and out. You can do this. In and out. In and out. In and …

“Tim” Bruce. “Jason tells me you have something I need to hear and that it can’t wait.”

In and out. In and out. In and…Red Robin turned to face Batman

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“How long has this been going on, Tim?” Bruce asked. He tried not to, really, he did, but the question still held a hint of accusation.

Jason frowned. Way to go Bruce. Make the kid feel like he’s screwed up again. You’re good at that. Not this time. He started to say something.

“Master Bruce, I don’t believe that matters, at least not now.” Thank you, Alfred Pennyworth. “What’s important at present is understanding this project of Master Timothy’s and what we can do to help. Wouldn’t you agree?”

As always, from Bruce’s childhood until now, Alfred’s dulcet suggestion had the force of a command. Batman’s storm blue eyes met those of his surrogate father. There was no rebuke in the old man’s expression, only the gentle inevitable admission that Bruce knew Alfred was correct. Bruce nodded his acceptance. “Ok, Tim, son. Start from the top” he said, actually sounding prepared to hear Tim this time, as Dick, Cass and Damian arrived from upstairs, “and” Bruce smiled slightly. Jason winced. It didn’t look natural. “Go slow so us lesser mortals can keep up, ok?”

Tim took a deep breath and went over it from the beginning for the second time.

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**“** Well, once again, here we are” Dick deadpanned. Standing by one of the large windows in Bruce’s study, he stared out, not truly seeing the manicured grounds. The late afternoon light muted the colors of a garden just beginning the journey into the long winter. Humans were getting clobbered by the Coronavirus, but nature was thriving, the once boy wonder observed. Dick had personally witnessed no fewer than two living breathing deer emerge from the woods surrounding the Manor to graze on the foliage bordering the estate. Deer. Living in the wooded areas surrounding Gotham City. Go figure. The world turned upside down.

Bruce was sitting at his desk, WE business forgotten and the virtual meeting long since adjourned. Cass, Jason, Damian, Alfred, of course, and the newly liberated Tim, plopped around the room in various positions on furniture that was way more comfortable than it looked thanks to the excellent eye of the late Martha Wayne and a certain Englishman’s immunity to “trendy.”

“I hardly think this is an appropriate time for humor, Richard” Damian commented dryly. His words lacked the same snippy tone they might have had if the youngest Wayne had been talking to one of his other brothers. The teen respected his eldest sibling in a different way from the rest of the family, even his father.

“Not joking, Dami, just making an observation. “Here we are again. Damn the Lazarus Pits for even existing! And damn who or whatever is responsible for letting that psycho Ra’s find them in the first place!” Dick hissed bitterly, an unusual state for the normally sunny natured acrobatic Nightwing. “Oh, sh-sorry Little D, I-“

“Do not apologize, Richard. My Grandfather’s actions speak volumes for his mental state. He well deserves your opinion of him” Damian stated, matter of fact. His mother’s father did indeed have much to answer for, far too much. “Also, I suspect” Damian’s voice became even drier, if that was possible, “give his apparent lack of a soul, that you are too late to damn him.”

“Yeah” Jason chimed in. “That ship sailed a few hundred years ago.”

Cass lightly pressed callused fingers to Damian’s mouth as the boy drew himself up, head whipping around to confront Jason. Damian settled, lips pursed, and found a wall to focus on.

“Bruce” Tim spoke up, his voice small, “maybe…” he cleared the frog from his throat, “maybe I didn’t think this thru all the way. I, I, I mean, maybe the nanites are a bad idea, maybe there’s some other way. I mean, getting rid of them, the Lazarus Pits, even we pull that off, Ra’s will just find some other way. He’s not going to stop, we already know that. So, so, so, maybe, maybe I should just forget it, get rid of them.…” Tim ran out of words. Suddenly, he felt ten years old again, enveloped by the memory of Janet Drake’s voice berating him, dismissing him, ridiculing him and telling him children ought not to mix in adult business. _“Go busy yourself elsewhere, Timothy! Honestly, can’t you see your father and I have important work here. Must you constantly be underfoot, seeking attention? Don’t talk foolishness! And don’t be needy! Drakes are never needy!”_

“No, Tim, don’t get rid of them” Bruce said softly. “That’s not the answer. You weren’t wrong to develop them.” The look he directed Tim’s way made the young genius feel much better, his not so loving dead mother’s judgment and rejection scurried back to the dim corner of his memory where they belonged.

“What is the answer, B?” Dick asked. “Do we even have one right now?”

“We will” Bruce returned. “We’ll find one. We don’t have the option not to, so we find one, for Ra’s and for the Everest Council. They don’t get to win. For now, though, the answer is dinner, then patrol for Cass, and Jason and I are patrolling together tonight.”

“Wha-what! Wait, what? I’m not patrolling with you, old man!” Jason babbled angrily, fists balled at his sides. “You can’t make me! Why do you even want to? You’d spend the entire night judging me! my guns, I’m too aggressive, too rough, too everything!” The white lock in his hair seemed to flair defensively.

“But, Father, I am your partner! I should be by your side!” Damian’s shouted protest competed with Jason’s defiance.

Not to be outdone, Tim argued on his own behalf. “Bruce, I can go patrol! My suit and PPE will protect me just as well as it would any of us! I don’t need to be swaddled like I’m a baby!”

“Stop.” Bruce’s single quiet word stemmed the tempest. “Jason, it’s just patrol, son. No judgment. My promise. I’d like you with me tonight, me by your side and you by mine” Bruce told him levelly, his quiet declaration melting his second son’s apprehensive defiance. Seeking confrontation and finding none was momentarily baffling to the rattled young adult.

Jason stomped past, shouldering Bruce on his way out the door. “We eating dinner or not?” he threw over his shoulder as he stalked out of the room. Alfred followed, a plan for calming his charge already forming. Cass was next, tranquil as ever, smiling faintly.

“Damian, you have school tomorrow. You know the rules about successive patrol nights when you have school the next day. Dick’s not patrolling either. Cass is covering Tim’s territory and the Birds are covering Nightwing’s route for him. He’ll be here with you” Bruce told his son, knowing having the brother he adored home with him made staying in for the night more palatable for the teenager.

“Bruce, what about-“ Tim, never one to give up easily continued his campaign.

“Tim, You need to rest tonight. You won’t get much of that on patrol and you’re going to need all you can get. You’ve got a monster day ahead of you tomorrow” Bruce told the boy (man! Man, not boy. He was still working on remembering that).

“Why? What am I going to be doing Bruce?” Tim was wary and intrigued in equal portions.

“You’re going to be working on developing those nanites with Oracle and if we can arrange it, getting Merlin involved from London. Between the three of you, Ra’s won’t know what hit him. Now” Bruce clasped his hands together, making a clapping sound, “let’s go eat that dinner.” He urged the rest of his children ahead of him, trying not to laugh out loud at the stunned look on Tim’s face.

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The Lazarus Pits. Damnation of the redeemed and shadow within illumination. They were the restorers of lives and the thieves of souls. A Lazarus Pit devoured sanity and nourished with bloodlust, at least for a time. Except for the Joker. Seeing as how the clown’s coocoo clock was already stuck on twelve, the purple suited green haired freak had the distinction of being the only one to ever have been rendered _sane_ by the pit. Temporarily. Even the pit had limits.

Their abilities had touched, like the sun and the rain, both just and unjust. Ra’s Al Ghul and Batman. Joker and Black Canary. The Ridder and Cassandra Cain. Those stupid Pits, Tim reflected. They were Dent’s double-sided coin with a hemorrhoid chaser. Janus on crank, and Tim both respected their power and hated their existence, and he was not alone in thinking of them that way. They were the reason that 800- year- old nut cramp Ra’s was always riding Tim’s jock, but one of them had also delivered Jason Todd back, eventually, into the arms of a family and a father who had loved and mourned him. In the final analysis, their capacity for good or evil rested in the hands of the wielder.

And that’s where hammer met nail, Tim Drake-Wayne reflected, rolling the clear cylinder back and forth in his hands. Given a choice, Ra’s was always going to break bad. Always. Every. Single. Time. Maybe once upon a long, long, time ago, in his first life, Ra’s still held within him a moral compass, but that slender reed of his original self no longer existed. Now only the Demon’s Head remained and for the leader of the League of Assassins, the Pits were the most powerful bullet in the gun he had aimed at the heart of humanity.

With all due respect to Bruce, what Tim’s side needed, if you asked Tim, and nobody had, was a bigger gun. One big enough to make somebody who felt no fear afraid. The transparent aluminum ampoule he held was that weapon and the nanites it kept in liquid suspension were the ammunition. He, Babs and Merlin had been working pretty much non-stop for the last 72 hours, with medical input from Alfred and Leslie Thompkins. Between the five collaborators, Tim would stack that brain trust up against Ra’s centuries of experience any day. Now all they needed was a place to test it and a subject to test it on. The former was the main reason he’d not wanted Jason to know about the nanite project.

The title “Batcave” was a misnomer. It was not a single cave, but a series of caves, all linked naturally or made to become joined by Bruce over the years. The end result was the mammoth subterrestrial cavern known as the Batcave. The average Gothamite knew it existed, but that was it for them. It would have been completely fried their collective brains to find out it was Bruce Wayne’s basement! Batman’s friends and allies knew (some of them) and so many rogues and villains had broken in over the years that Tim had once been tempted to suggest to Batman that he print up a map and a list of attractions like one of those things people got at the zoo to help them decide which animals they wanted to see first. He hadn’t though. Tim did NOT EVER make that suggestion because, as had been pointed out by many people, he was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. So, no map of the stars, but the cave’s being was not exactly Batman’s best kept secret. Bruce had proved to be much better about guarding the Batcave’s location than its reality, unless you were talking about villains, that is. Tim never did figure out how so many bad guys kept finding their way in. What, were they having monthly meetings?

The Batcave’s true talent for secrecy ran to a different vein. It’s existence was not the secret. Many of the things it contained were. Never mind computing, scientific and intelligence gathering capabilities that would make most governments and their myriad agencies gnaw their livers in jealousy. That only scratched the surface. The giant penny, the T-Rex and the huge playing card were nice too, but those were toys, trophies, memento’s of past victories.

No, the darkest secret, the most closely guarded, the most stygian, the big bad boogeyman of Batcave hidden mysteries was secret indeed. Known only to the Batman himself and the bats who were the original and constant inhabitants of the caves. And to Tim.

_He’d discovered it one day not very long after becoming Robin. He was living at the manor, due to Jack Drake’s coma. Bruce was off world on a JLA mission, Dick was in Bludhaven as Officer Grayson, Alfred was in Gotham replenishing the Manor’s stores and taking Leslie Thompkins out to lunch for her birthday, and Tim was massively bored. Done with schoolwork, unable to connect with any of his friends, and benched by the boss because of badly bruised ribs courtesy of Killer Croc, Tim was overcome by the burning need to **do something, anything!** It finally occurred to him, like a giant light bulb switching over his head, that he, Tim Drake, Robin, Boy Wonder number three, was all alone in a house that sat atop one of the most extensive cave formations on the planet and that Tim had only ever seen a tiny fraction of those caves. He decided that fact needed fixing, and right away. Alfred wouldn’t be back for about three hours and Bruce and Dick did not have to be factored in. The angel on Tim’s shoulder trying to tell him this was a bad idea didn’t get two words out before the devil on his other shoulder drop kicked the little white wimp out of contention. Common sense and obedience to orders stood no chance stacked up against Tim’s past history of leaping blindly into the void and hoping it didn’t decide to eat him. He made ready quickly, gathering everything he thought he might need: rope, 2 flashlights, goggles for his eyes, gloves to help protect his hands. He dressed in a rugged pair of jeans and a jacket that could take the punishment and wore the same boots that he patrolled in. If they were good enough for Robin, they were good enough for Tim Drake to go cave exploring. He even grabbed a bottle of water and two protein bars. He didn’t plan to make it an expedition, but, eh… a guy had to be prepared, right? After checking one last time to make sure the coast was clear, he’d headed for the cave, descended the stairs like normal, but instead of heading over to the training areas, labs setups or computers, he oriented himself in the other direction, into the midnight environs the bats claimed as their home, and set off, buzzing head to toe with excitement and anticipation…_

He had not wanted to find it and he’d never let on that he had. He’d come rushing upstairs from the cave that day, ahead of Alfred’s return by less than ten minutes, muddy and stunned almost beyond belief, stripped off his filthy clothes and thrown them out to avoid questions, frantically wiping away evidence of his afternoon’s activities. It couldn’t be, but it was, and Tim didn’t know what to do or even if he should do anything. He was so rattled he stood under the hot spray of his shower shaking until the water started to cool and Alfred had become concerned enough to knock on his bedroom door and make sure he was ok. It took time, but Tim managed to suck it up and convince Alfred he was fine and from that day to this, Tim had never, ever, spoken a word about his discovery to anyone. Not Bruce or any of his brothers or his sister, not Kon or any of the Titans, no one. But every so often, when he stayed overnight at the manor, it would wake him, the knowledge that it was there, far below him, roiling and aware, a thing alive. It was an incredible thing to wrap his mind around, but it was true. A Lazarus Pit. The Batcave had a Lazarus Pit.

After all these years, Tim’s illicit spelunking chicken had finally come home to roost. He was going to have to admit to Bruce that he knew about the Pit in the cave and for how long he’d known. Maybe he was making too much of this. Maybe it was just his exhaustion talking. Maybe he just needed coffee and sleep and it would all be ok. It would. He was pretty sure Damian and Jason didn’t know. If they had, for different reasons, they would have said. But maybe Dick and Alfred already knew. Yeah, Yeah, maybe they did. If they did, though, neither had ever breathed a word to Tim. Not a word. That didn’t have to mean anything, right? It’s not exactly the kind of thing that comes up casually over scrambled eggs and cornflakes is it? Calm down Tim, calm down. Don’t get ahead of yourself. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and-.

“Tim”

**_GAH_**!! Bruce again. Damn the man’s ability to sneak up on people! How did somebody so big move so quietly?! Screw it. It felt like he was twelve again, knocking on the door of Wayne Manor to confront Batman for the first time. “Bruce, there’s something else I need to tell you” he began.

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Cass looked stable as ever, Jason shellshocked and Damian betrayed, but Dick and Alfred both looked slightly guilty. Dick more so than Alfred, naturally. They had known! Tim understood in a flash. Both of them. Dick and Alfred both already knew about the cave’s most unique and dangerous addition. They knew, all this time they’d both known, and neither of them had ever let it slip, not ever. Not even a little bit. Wow. Huh. Tim did not know what to do with that. Although, now that he thought about it, Alfred shouldn’t really be a surprise. Nothing got by him, not in this house. No thing. Hell, Alfie probably helped Bruce build the damn thing.

Dick was some kind of a surprise though. Yeah, Nightwing was the first son and the first Robin and all that, but Dick’s mouth moved almost as fast and with as much energy as the rest of him, which was to say pretty much nonstop from the time the man got out of bed in the morning until the time he called it a patrol and crawled back in. Dick keeping something like the knowledge of a Lazarus Pit in the Batcave to himself was like Ahab spotting Moby and deciding to go sunbathe on the deck instead of diving for the whale harpoon. Huh, just…huh.

“Father, how could you-.”

Bruce cut short his son’s protest. “Not now, Damian. We’ll talk later. I promise. Tim, you and Oracle and Merlin, you’ve done some amazing work, but by my calc you’ve been at it for going on four days. Get some sleep” their father urged gently.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave it there? We find out there’s a Pit right here in the fu-freakin’ sorry Alf, Batcave and you’re just going to leave it there!?” Jason’s outrage grew with every word.

“Yes” Bruce answered, composed. “Tim, bed. Everyone else, we have a patrol to get ready for. The rest can wait till morning. We have too much to discuss to do it now. Make sure you’re fully stocked, fresh PPE, the works. We all know the drill.” With that, Bruce turned and went to change. Tim staggered his way out of the cave and upstairs to bed. Alfred followed to make sure the boy didn’t pass out in the hallway halfway to his room. His brothers and sister exchanged looks, Cass unreadable, Dick a bit sheepish, Damian frustrated and Jason seething. Alfred spared a brief glance back over his shoulder at his departing grandchildren. It should prove to be quite an interesting patrol. Quite interesting indeed.

**End of Part 6**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I receive a flood of complaints and flames, I don't know for sure that the Batcave still has a Lazarus Pit, but it is canon that at one time it did. Also, don't know for sure who knows about it and who doesn't so for purposes of this story, I'm just gonna run with what I have written. Eggsy and Kingsman return in the next chapter and there is still much scheming and strategizing to be done!


	7. The Kings Have the Power, But the Knights Have the Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kingsman is back. The Bats are planning, pieces are being moved into place and everybody gets their game faces on.

**Chapter 7- The Kings Have the Power, But The Knights Have the Fun**

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_He motioned to the nearby ninja and gave instructions for Alison MacLeod to be brought to him. He meditated, peaceful, studying the ruggedly beautiful landscape, the jagged, green carpeted hillsides falling away at sharp angles, rushing to meet the deep blue loch far below._

_“Well, what is it?” she harped imperiously once she arrived. He made her wait, and wait, and wait, until, finally, his ear picked up an irritable snuffle that indicated he had won the battle of wills. Judging her to be sufficiently humbled for the time being, he turned, regarding her from beneath lowered lids with his frosted emerald stare._

_“What” she began hoarsely, stopped, then tried again, attempting to salvage a measure of her composure. “What do you require, Mr. Al Ghul? You are my guest. How may I assist you?” she asked, trying to clear her throat discreetly._

_Ra’s allowed her a sliver of the chilly smile of earlier and chuckled inwardly at her futile effort to hide a shudder._

_“I require that you summon your fellow Council members. There is much to talk about. Plans have changed and there is much to discuss.” He turned his back again, dismissing her._

_“Why, why, that is not possible!” she protested shrilly. “Under these circumstances, the travel restrictions, the danger to our health, it simply is impossible!” MacLeod did not quite shout before recovering. One did not shout at this man, she reminded herself, reasserting her internal control. Not if one wanted to live, a fact that fool Ainsley neglected to give sufficient respect. “The, the pandemic, COVID-19-“_

_He turned and stared her down again, this time fire in his gaze. “-Is less than nothing to me” he halted her frightened excuses indifferently. It was a not so subtle reminder of the Lazarus Pits at his disposal, the very reason the Everest Council found themselves pinned under his thumb like bugs to a board. “There are things which need to be decided. Strategies that need to be finalized. See to it. Find a way.” He looked away, done with the conversation with his most reluctant hostess._

_Alison MacLeod, used to treating others with the same regal disdain to which she had just been treated, knew when to cut her losses. Her dignity was not worth her life, and, she reasoned, there were those wonderfully restorative Lazarus Pits to think of. With as much decorum as she could muster, she withdrew. These arrangements were going to be such a bother._

At their first meeting his new boss scared him so badly that Dale Cooper, A.K.A. Tom Masterson, peed himself. He’d felt the liquid, warm and plentiful, cascade down his leg, soaking his pants and forming a small puddle inside his shoes, powerless to stop it from happening. The dark suit he’d been wearing had lessened Dale’s humiliation, but not by much. This Ra’s Al Ghul reveled in Dale’s misery, the sneer on the man’s face the perfect companion to the eerie green glow in his heavily lidded hawk’s eyes.

It was almost funny, Dale reflected sourly. Not really, but it was all he had. If anybody had told him six years ago, or even six months ago that he would be chauffeuring around somebody like Al Ghul, Dale probably would have laughed, wrote ‘em off as potty and been done with it, but here he was. One village headman’s no longer virgin daughter, about a dozen seriously pissed off relatives, an accusation of black market weapons smuggling (true), a dishonorable discharge from the army and his prior boss’s misfortune later and former SAS Lieutenant Dale Cooper was Ra’s Al Ghul’s new chauffeur. Not entirely voluntarily, but Dale got to keep his head, which was more than could be said for his previous employer, Michael Ainsley. Until he’d met the man acolytes referred to as the “Demon’s Head”, Cooper had supposed Ainsley to be the coldest, most ruthless man he’d ever meet. Now Ainsley’s dead and Dale’s driving around a, if it is to be believed, an 800-year-old murderous screwball that wants to rule the world. Crikey! Another one. Where do they keep getting these kooks? And how did he always end up working for them?

He’d thought Michael Ainsley and the Everest Council was as bad as it could get, but they weren’t even close, he huffed bitterly as he pulled up to the wide limestone steps that bordered the opulent Nova Scotian Mansion known only as “Nineteen.” Dale hopped out as quickly as he could, given the bum knee he still had from the incident in London, but the rear door was already open and a silent, black dressed ninja already at attention awaiting her master’s exit from the limousine. Those ninjas gave him the willies, always looking at him like they’d love to use him for slice and dice practice. Copper watched as Ra’s Al Ghul swept past him out of the car and up the steps, flanked by a compliment of four ninja, disappearing into the recesses of the luxurious home, probably not to been seen again, at least by him, any time soon. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, got back in the car and went to find out where the other drivers were hanging. Dale was a killer his own self, a murderer, he’d even killed cops, one just recently, always prided himself on being a right tough bugger, but he knew when he was swimming with sharks. Question was, could he find a way out of the water before they decided to eat him? 

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Eggsy was so done. Fresh from having a stop at his favorite shop for a cuppa and now he’s ducking and dodging, bullets missing him by the barest of margins, in and out of doorways and alleys, trying to avoid getting dead. He tripped and fell as the latest attempt nicked the heel of his shoe. He rolled, avoiding the attempts to kill him by millimeters, scrambling up and taking off again. The worst part about it, they’d shot the plastic container of delicious goodness out of his hand before he’d had a chance to take the first sip. To sum up, he’s wearing his morning tea, running for his life with a shirtfront covered in the hot, sticky liquid and has no idea why. Oh, and his fingers were stinging. The bullet had traced a path along the back of his hand, skimming his knuckles, so, while he might have no idea who was shooting at him or why, he did know one thing. The shooter may be good, but Eggsy was better. A Kingsman wouldn’t have missed.

“Merlin” he sang, activating the comm in his ear. Huddled in the recessed doorway, he spoiled any potential shot, but he was also trapped, unable to maneuver. To add to his disadvantage, whoever was trying to stick a fork in him was free to move about unimpeded. Unacceptable. With no idea where the shots were coming from, staying out of sight was his only option, and that sucked so, time to call for help.

“Great morning to ya mate” Merlin replied, energetically chipper and obviously having a much better morning than Eggsy. No doubt, Unwin paused to consider, the tech whiz was manning several comm units from various of Eggsy’s other Kingsman cohorts and also in the throes of some exciting new cutting edge gadget discovery. Merlin’s mind was constantly on the go, revving so fast that Eggsy swore there were times he could actually hear the gears churning. Kingsman’s communications and technical genius greatly reminded Unwin of his new friend Tim Wayne in that respect.

“Actually” Egssy told his colleague, “my day’s not going so great. I’m bloody being sniped and I haven’t managed to pinpoint the shooter yet. I don’t suppose you could get a fix on my position and scan the area for me? I’m a bit pinned.” Other than being a little out of breath, Eggsy sounded so casual and calm it was almost as if this sort of thing was a normal part of his daily commute, but it really was not. With Kingman’s huge fleet to choose from, he usually took one of their self-driving taxi’s to work when in London, but, like most of the city’s residents, the quarantine lockdown had given him a touch of what the Americans liked to call cabin fever. He’d managed to discover an open tea shop that allowed for no-contact purchases the other day and decided his hankering for a cup of their excellent brew was worth the walk. Tomorrow, he vowed, it’s Earl Grey for me and Tilde at home. First, though, he had to survive his morning commute. 

“On it,” Merlin answered, instantly all business. Handing off coordination of other Kingsman operative’s activities to his co-workers, James focused his considerable talents on Eggsy’s situation. As he was doing so, a bespoke suited sleeve reached over his shoulder to toggle the outgoing transmission button. 

“Eggsy, stay put. Help is on the way” Harry Hart advised smoothly, simultaneously dispatching a team to where Kingsman’s superior tech said both the agent and the person trying to kill him were in proximity.

“I’m still not sure where the bastard is, Harry” Eggsy admitted. “I’m pretty sure he’s up high somewhere but-“ 

Hart broke in. “Not to worry, Eggsy, we’ve pinpointed both of you. The problem should be dealt with directly” Harry reassured him, unconcerned. The mission to rescue his cornered operator was greatly assisted by the fact that the streets were still largely empty. Diminished bodies on the streets combined with being able to know precisely where Eggsy was made a critical difference.

Eggsy blew on his wounded fingers, stiff with dried blood in the chilly AM air, waiting impatiently. Fifteen nervous minutes passed. Suddenly his ears perked up and he tensed, hand tightening around the gun in his undamaged hand. Footsteps, a steady, cautious advance. He prepared himself to make whoever approached understand trying to take down a Kingsman was a price they did not want to pay. Going on the offensive, he emerged in a blur from his hidey hole, aiming his weapon at the perceived threat.

“Galahad” came the easy reaction. “I’m on your side, bruv.” Eggsy was greeted by the smiling countenance of Dixon Cleese, who’s Kingsman call sign was Percival. Eggsy’s fellow agent turned, motioning to the mouth of the alley at the waiting vehicle, presumably a “company car.”

“What about the shooter?” Eggsy inquired, trying to walk and keep one eye on the rooftops at the same time.

Percival’s relaxed grin flashed again. Reaching out to open the car’s rear door, Eggsy looked down to see a bound, unconscious man crammed into the automobile’s rear well, a very nasty looking lump adorning his forehead. Eggsy frowned, jaw clenched. The last time he’d seen that ugly mug, the man wearing it had been driving while the phony “Tom Masterson” tried to kill him and Tim Wayne. He looked at the forehead lump again. “I hope it hurt, you soddin’ knob” he rasped with a touch of unprofessional satisfaction. 

“I expect Arthur will have quite a few questions for him to start with. Let’s be going, eh?” Percival nodded to the agent behind the wheel as he and Eggsy climbed into the car and they took off.

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If Ra’s Al Ghul been less than the immortal Leader of the League of Assassins, he may have admitted to a smug, secret enjoyment of the reaction which greeted his entrance into the conference room. Had he been the man born centuries earlier, the husband of Sora, the physician and researcher, … but he was no longer. That man had been lost to the sands of time. The imperious fools of the Everest Council were met with the full power of the Demon’s Head, the implications of which they were only now beginning to comprehend. It was time the arrogant fumbling of these privileged fools be brought to heel. Their flailing attempts had not only cost him another chance to bring Timothy into his orbit, and caused not only the Batman and those who supported him to take action to sure up the family’s defenses, but also awakened the organization known as Kingsman to his involvement and to the League’s existence. Their latest debacle was a perfect example.

As he was traveling to this meeting, word reached Ra’s of the attempt on the life of one of Kingsman’s top provocateur’s, a failed attempt. (Naturally) Al Ghul thought derisively. This Everest Council and their ludicrous delusions of rule over mankind. These self-aggrandizing imbeciles must be harnessed and controlled before they caused irreparable damage. To that end, they had been summoned by him to this place the Council considered to be their domain. Apparently, the lesson of taking Ainsley’s head before their very eyes was insufficient to drive his point home. Their false perception of independence and control must be crushed once and for all. That would happen tonight. All was being prepared.

He surveyed the faces before him, noting with contempt that the Council members had spaced themselves a distance of at least two meters apart around the enormous octagon shaped conference table. Their faces were covered with the latest in what the popular media had dubbed “PPE”. (Yes, Ra’s owned several television sets, intelligent HD tv’s, he could afford the best, might as well get the best, no firestick though. One had to draw the line somewhere). They also each wore nitrile gloves and protective gowns and eyewear. Evidently, fear of the latest plague to afflict mankind, COVID-19, reached even into the privileged lives of such as the lofted Everest Council, however superior they might wish to consider themselves. Since they did not dare disobey his summons, this…display was the Everest Council’s pitiful example of “social distancing”. Onerous term.

He forced them to meet his gaze, regally accepting their submission and noted those who showed the most resistance. MacLeod, who represented Europe, Cyril Coughlin who presumed to speak for the continent of Australia and Aiman bin Mamat here on behalf of Asia were the easiest, already having been subdued. Eric Fryasson, spokesman for Antarctica, Valentina Guayta of Peru, who represented South America and George Olatunji of the African nation of Benin would be more difficult. For Ra’s Al Ghul, a very small difficulty. All of those assembled here imagined themselves the equals of the Head of the Demon. He gave them a sinister smile. Oh, this was going to be fun.

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“Meet Alan Blake” Harry Hart told his audience. He was at the start of the morning briefing of the combined Kingsman/Bat team. Bruce Wayne and two of his sons, Tim and Jason and Wayne’s only daughter Cassandra, who Harry also knew as Black Bat were present. The eldest son, Richard, (Nightwing) and the youngest child, Damian (Robin) were notably absent. Colorful names to perfectly match their colorful personalities, this family of crime fighting Bats, Hart contemplated briefly. Effective, however. Anyone who wrote them off as costumed jokes was a fool and deserved the thrashing they received. The Kingsman leader had seen that lesson made clear with his own eyes. Harry didn’t see the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth. That might not be an altogether bad thing. Pennyworth’s nominal employer was far swifter on the uptake than Arthur was comfortable with. The man missed almost nothing, and certain former… professional connections… were best left unexplored, at least for now. Back to the briefing, Harry.

Tim stiffened and stood, fist clenching. “That’s-“

“Yeah, mate, that’s the other one” Eggsy finished for him. “Haven’t located the fake “Masterson” yet, but we will” Unwin told them with certainty.

“Tim?” Bruce questioned.

“That’s the phony ‘Det. Ellis Smith’ Bruce” Tim supplied to his father. “This guy was the driver the night his buddy tried to put a couple in Eggsy’s face. So, how’d you meet up with him again?” he directed the question to Eggsy.

“The blighter tried to finish the job this morning as I was on my way to work” Eggsy informed the Gotham crowd. “Blew a hole right thru my fu-um, my bleedin’ cuppa” he complained, modifying his language at the last second in deference to Cass. A Kingsman did not use certain words in the presence of a lady. Besides, Tilde would have his head. The high regard of his princess was _very important_ to Eggsy.

“As you can see” Harry picked up the narrative, “it didn’t end well for him.” Harry indicated Alan Blake, pacing inside the compact clear walled cell as well has a twisted ankle and two fractured ribs left over from the night of the kidnapping attempt would allow. The guy’s left eye was swollen shut below a goose egg size bump on that side of his skull too, Tim saw. Looked like the moron tried mixing it up with a Kingsman, with predictable results. I hope it hurt, RR thought spitefully, unconsciously echoing Eggsy’s earlier sentiment.

“Is he talking?” Bruce asked. “About Everest? Has he confirmed why they came after Tim?”

“Talking, no” Harry’s dry delivery took on a humorous note. “Singing like he’s trying out for a telly talent show? We can’t shut him up. So far, he has shown exactly zero loyalty to his employers. And yes, Mr. Wayne, our theory was correct. Everest was hoping to trade your son to Ra’s Al Ghul in exchange for access to these Lazarus Pits you’ve told us about.”

At the mention of Lazarus Pits, Harry, Eggsy and Merlin noticed the Wayne’s exchanging an uneasy look. That made Harry uneasy. Kingsman’s alliance with Batman and his children and associates was still a little shaky and Harry Hart wasn’t born yesterday. He knew the Batman hadn’t told nearly everything. Kingsman was still playing more than a few things close too, but they had to learn to trust each other. The stakes were too high not to.

Plainly, Bruce had come to the exact same conclusion. He exchanged another look with Tim, then “speaking of the Lazarus Pits, there are a couple of things you should know.”

Eggsy’s stomach lurched. That phrase was usually followed by something that meant he wasn’t going to be making it home to his wife and his dog for quite a while. He groaned.

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**“** What did you say this stuff is?” Dick asked. I don’t CARE what it is is or why it was created, he thought privately, giving the container at Tim’s lab station another queasy look, that’s just **_nasty! Yuck!_** It reminded Dick of a creature feature he’d seen after Bruce had first taken him in. It was before he’d discovered the billionaire’s deep dark secret and the cave Bruce kept it in. Before becoming Robin. Bruce and Alfred let him stay up late one Friday night since he had no school the next day. Bruce had slipped away to go do his Batman thing after his new ward had fallen asleep. When the boy woke up it was to the on-screen sight of a man being devoured alive by some amorphous cross between jello and sludge. It just swallowed the guy whole, one inch at a time, sucking him down while the victim screamed, helpless to escape. **_Eeeecccchh!_** What was the name of that movie again? It was a long time ago…The Blob, that was it, The Blob! Stupid movie scared Dick so bad at the time, he’d slept with the lights on for a week. After that, whether he went out as Robin or not, his late night movie habits had been monitored for years by Bruce or Alfred until he hit his teens. This stuff Tim was growing looked a lot like the Blob thing. Enough that Dick really hoped the seal on the tank his brother had it in was truly escape proof! Still, he tried to sound casually curious when asking the question.

“I told you twice already, Dick” Tim answered, the light in the younger Bat’s eyes telling Dick Tim was on to him. Dick could only hope not to crawl into bed in the pre-dawn of post patrol to find a baggie of the stuff waiting for him courtesy of one or more of his siblings. He wouldn’t put it past them, especially Tim. Red looked harmless and nerdy, but Dick had found out the hard way, the kid was diabolical when it came to pranks.

“It’s a protozoan mass we’ve grown to test the nanites. We need something living to make sure the Lazarus Pit water _won’t_ revive it once the nanites micro-mutate and do their thing. Obviously we can’t test it on a person-Jason can we not do zombie jokes right now-“ Tim cut away to head off Jason’s incipient snark- “and animals are out too.”

“Damn right they are!” Damian protested hotly, cradling Titus’s head protectively.

Cass patted the boy’s back soothingly. “No one is going to harm the animals, brother.”

“It was never even open to consideration, son, by any of us, I promise” Bruce insisted. Damian needed to be reassured that the rest of his family was as against animal testing as he was. For any reason, no matter how compelling it seemed.

“I still don’t see why we could not have used plants” Damian stated. “They are living, and it seems to me would make much more effective test subjects” he argued.

“We’ve already talked about that too, Dami” Tim answered. “I like plants. They’re beautiful and fragrant and good for the planet. I’m not gonna pay ‘em back by killing them. And also, I promised Dr. Isley.”

“I, I’m sorry, you what? Say again? You promised Poison Ivy?” Jason jumped in, incredulous.

Tim faced his family head on. “I promised her I wouldn’t do testing and stuff that harmed plants. Why not? She’s not the only one who can care about the planet, you know.” Tim flushed but stood his ground.

“Quite so” Alfred supported, checking Jason’s sarcastic reply before it could, uh, flower. “I too, am a friend of the earth, Master Timothy. When will you commence testing?” he inquired politely.

Tim took a deep breath. “No time like the present. This stuff isn’t getting any younger, is it? Gotta use it while it’s still fresh. You know, before it begins to decay. Once it starts to rot, it’s probably gonna stink, a lot.”

Dick gagged and fled.

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Ra’s Al Ghul had screwed the pooch. He didn’t know it yet, but he had. The Demon’s Head’s problem was that he’d lived too long without the fear of dying. He had underestimated a few opponents over the years, especially Batman, but usually, Ra’s came out on top because he didn’t have to worry that any mistake may be his last. The Lazarus Pit could undo any misstep, any error, any strategic blunder, rare indeed though they were, that he made, correct any flaw in his calculations, including one that might kill him. Even if an enemy got in a lucky shot and took him out, one dip in the Lazarus Pit, and, presto, Ra’s had himself a do-over. When a man seemed to hold the power of life or death in his own hands, he stopped feeling like a man and started thinking like a god. A dangerous barrier to blow past. Like ignoring the road closed signs posted on a dilapidated bridge.

Ra’s had stopped paying attention to those signs in his first century of life. The invulnerability bestowed on him by the Lazarus Pits had done a lot more than drive him beyond the edge of reason and morality by their repeated use. He no longer quite considered himself human. No, that wasn’t it exactly. It was more like he was a superior form of humanity. His accumulated centuries of knowledge and the wealth of experience acquired in 800 years plus of life combined with the certainty that the Pits effects had the ability to cancel any damage done to him or any he so chose to allow access…well, let’s face it, it made him better, or so he thought. The Lazarus Pits gave him, the way he saw it, a dominance others could never claim, and that indeed lifted him above the rest of mankind. And more than that, it qualified him to be their judge. To decide which among them were fit to be allowed to remain. Who would serve, and who would be served. In his opinion, it was not the “haves” and the “have nots”, it was the worthy and the unworthy. It was as simple as that. The term “the one percent” didn’t mean the same thing to the leader of the League of Assassins that it did to everybody else and Ra’s figured he had the right to decide who was who.

He’d done that with the seven (six now), pretentious fools calling themselves the “Everest Council.” Taken one look at their blunders and failings, at the inability to accomplish what was child’s play for his scores of disciplined killers and found Everest to be wanting, inferior, among the ninety-nine percent. Once they had served their purpose, he planned to have them killed. The permanent kind of dead, no Lazarus Pits for them, whatever they were hoping for. Too bad, not sad, just plain old dead, for good. After his object lesson of the day before, not only would they be afraid to defy him, they’d never even see it coming. They were sniveling, contemptible fools.

And that’s where Ra’s had done it doggie style without even realizing it. The Everest Council had a few secrets. Things that did not meet the eye. Things, that, had he known, might have given him cause to rethink his notion of personal superiority. At least they might have slowed him down, a little anyways. Made him back up and go at the situation in a slightly different way. But he didn’t know. Had no idea. Had no knowledge. And in this case, what the Demon’s Head didn’t know was about to circle around and bite him in the ass.

More drew the members of the Everest Council together than a common goal, more than their disdain for the vast majority of their fellow men and women. More than privilege and circumstance of birth, more even than similar ideology. Ra’s considered himself more than merely human. In the case of the Everest Council, it was the literal truth. Every one of them, the slain Michael Ainsley included, was a meta. There were others, but one of their common gifts, the one they all shared, was telepathy. They had been born that way. Each of them, before they’d learned to harness their abilities, had considered them to be a burden, a curse to be hidden. That what they could do made them freaks, outcasts.

Coming together had enabled them to see that as wrong thinking. They were not the curse, they were not inferior. They weren’t the freaks. The others were. The ones not like them. _All_ the ones not like them. And Everest came to consider it to be their sacred trust to bring those others, all the ones not like them under the correct control. First thing was getting the earth’s population down to a controllable number and then to bring that number to proper heel. It had been their original mission since the formation of the Council and it still was. Worry over their own mortality was the only significant impediment that any of them could see and Ra’s Al Ghul’s Lazarus Pits took care of that. He must not be allowed to get in the way of what needed to happen. Al Ghul **would** surrender access to the Pits, either willingly, or they would make him. 

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_Every member of the Council was a powerful telepath. A funny thing happened between people who were able to share one another’s thoughts. it linked them in other ways too. Ways it would be difficult for anybody who didn’t have the ability to do what they did to understand. There were no empaths among them, else the prospect of wiping a good portion of humanity off the board would be unthinkable. Feeling the grief, pain, misery and resentment of several billion humans as they ceased to exist was not something any member of the Everest Council wanted to experience, thanks all the same. They didn’t even have the desire to feel each other’s emotions, but their shared mindlink came at a price. Certain thoughts couldn’t help but have emotions attached and if those emotions were strong enough, they bled thru the link._

_Such had been the case when Ra’s Al Ghul’s bestiality rose up to strike off the head of one of their own, Michael Ainsley. The terror of what was about to happen to him was only the leading edge of the doomed man’s thoughts. Shock, indignation, total rejection of the horrible reality that lay before him, silently begging his confederates to somehow save his life all rolled thru his mind accompanied by the tide of fear flooding his system. Cyril Coughlin, Aiman bin Mamat and George Olatunji had known and felt it all right along with him as Al Ghul’s blade came down and swept Michael Ainsley’s disbelieving head from his body, soaking the colorful mosaics of Ra’s floor in crimson. His last thought, that the Council avenge his grisly end upon the Demon’s Head-blackness, darkness, nothing._

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To be in another’s mind at the moment of death, to feel that final thought cut off and fall into… Ra’s had mistaken their trauma for capitulation that day, just as he had after his “demonstration” of the day before. The Council had been summoned to their North American headquarters by Ra’s Al Ghul, imperiously supposing himself to still have the advantage over them. Thinking them weak and inept due to some small missteps of the Council’s subordinates _._

The surviving members of the Council lay in their beds, communicating unspoken to plan their next moves against the Demon’s Head in the small hours of early morning. A floor above them, Ra’s Al Ghul slept unconcerned, secure in the notion that the display of his power he had forced the Everest Council to be party to the day before would be enough to shock them into line once and for all. They let him think that for now. Mainly because they were shaken, but not in the way Ra’s supposed. Ra’s little stunt had not had the result he’d been aiming for and the Council was going to see him pay! Before it was done, Everest promised each other to see Ra’s Al Ghul’s heart ripped from his immortal chest and burned in front of his eyes as he died. Let’s see him come back to life behind that.

After dragging them to the recesses of the Nova Scotian estate, Ra’s, ‘cause he was Ra’s, made them wait for hours in the bunker’s conference room, guarded by a score of ninjas. Their own security staffs had been disarmed and forced to wait far enough away as to render them, at least immediately ineffective and making the Council Ra’s prisoners. So, they’d waited, and then waited some more, and then waited some more, fuming and planning. The only concession to their comfort was that they were allowed supervised bathroom breaks as if they were children! The humiliation of being treated the same way they’d each treated others all the time, well, irony wasn’t a thing with Everest. Fury was though, and they had plenty of it for Ra’s Al Ghul.

After forcing them to sit for hours in the conference room whose easy surroundings had long since soured, Alison MacLeod and her remaining fellow Everest members were told to get up off their numb behinds and taken by Al Ghul’s phalanx of ninja hitmen to the lower regions of the main building of the sprawling estate. As they descended, the mystery deepened for each of them. Mainly used for storage, dank and barely maintained, these levels were lightly secured, hardly even acknowledged. What were they all doing down here? What purpose could possibly be served by…

As they were herded reluctantly down the long dim steel-walled corridor, MacLeod and the rest of the council began to see that an eerie green glow emanated from a room at the end of the passageway. It pulsed and swelled as if it breathed. Pushed thru the entrance into the room, No! It could not be! How? When? Why had the assassin leader done this?! For what reason? What did he plan? Their combined attempts at scanning his thoughts discovered only vicious satisfaction, no conscious thought to latch onto.

There was no time to react, to counter what happened next. At Ra’s Al Ghul’s signal, a brace of ninja stepped up to Mamat, one grabbing him by the arms and the other slicing his throat without hesitation, the blood spurting. Another one of the killers indifferently eviscerated the horrified Cyril Coughlin, expression never changing as the rotund Australian’s intestines spewed red and stinking out over the stone flooring next to the Lazarus Pit Ra’s had his minions to construct. The rest of Everest had only seconds to register the astonished agony of their fellow members before the light faded from Coughlin’s dying eyes and Mamat’s dead body was allowed to flop to the floor like a gutted pig.

Out in the darkened hallway, on the other side of the door, a score of Ra’s remaining ninja did not react at all to the shrill screams, pleas and sounds of retching that reached their ears. They’d heard worse in their master’s employ. It came with the job.

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“I know how they did it” Oracle, known to the Bat clan as Barbara Gordon, told the Kingsman over the secured connection from her own private perch in the clocktower. “I know how the Everest Council got on to you, on to Kingsman” she announced. Not smugly, Babs Gordon didn’t do smug, (she didn’t, shut up Dick). But, and not to brag, but she got skills, everybody know that. The Joker might have taken her legs, but her hacker chops were fine if she do say so herself, and, she do. 

“How do you mean?” Harry asked. He had very much wanted that question answered. Kingsman security was always high priority for him, and he took any breech as a personal affront. Between Ra’s Al Ghul and the Everest Council, they had been hit hard lately and they would meet the threat head on and crush it. Kingsman hadn’t risen from the ashes of WWI to let the likes of Al Ghul and Everest take them out. If Ra’s and the Council wanted a go on the pitch, Harry and his were up for a match.

“I mean this” Babs supplied, busily tapping keys and loading information to the shared screen. She absently noted the presence of Cass, stripping off COVID-19 protective gear and going thru decontamination then slipping in phantom-like beside her. Bruce, Damian and the others, including, to his delight, a fully masked and protected up the wazoo Red Robin, were out patrolling. All eyes formed on what Oracle was sending.

Eggsy Unwin’s eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the setting. The interior of Richmond Valentine’s mountain hideaway, complete with fine linen covered tables, never to be consumed magnums of champagne and the bomb decapitated corpses of a couple hundred or so of Valentine’s chosen movers and shakers, none whom was ever going to be doing any more moving or shaking. Refocusing from the dead to the living, Eggsy ducked reflexively as the lethal blades that served as both weapons and legs for Valentine’s beautiful pet killer Gazelle missed his throat by centimeters. He continued to watch fascinated as memories that normally played only in his mind unfolded now on the screen shared between Gotham City and London. Getting to the see the battle between him and the deadly woman play out from a third party angle was mesmerizing. Unwin _knew_ who won and his pulse still sped up when the blade in his shoe flicked out, it’s poisoned tip grazing Gazelle’s arm as the two combatants passed in the air. At the same time it was happening in his mind, his eyes were seeing him drop the pieces of his ruined tie at his feet, automatically drawing the eyes of the ill-fated woman there as well. She died as the toxin flooded her system, Eggsy finished off Valentine, saved the world, grabbed a mag of the bubbly and two glasses and-ah, ahem. He cut his mental replay off right there. The rest was between him and his princess.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Oracle, how did you obtain this footage?” Harry asked.

“That’s what I’d like to find out, Arthur” Eggsy contributed. As far as he’d known, himself, Tilde and Valentine’s other kidnap victims were the only survivors to emerge from the mountain that day.

“After Richmond Valentine’s little end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it shindig went bust, thanks to Agent Unwin-”

“Call me Eggsy” Unwin put in with an easy grin.

“-After Eggsy broke up the party, the world’s various alphabet/numeric intelligence agencies sponsored an allegedly coordinated effort to clean up the mess as quietly as possible. I think they were trying to stave off panic or something if people found out-you know what, that doesn’t matter- they sent agents to Valentine’s retreat, among other places. Turns out an Everest Council member, Alison MacLeod, both her parents were on Valentine’s guest list. Elspeth MacLeod and her husband, Daniel. They, um, completely lost their heads in the, uh, confusion, but before they did, one of them managed to smuggle in recording equipment that all Valentine’s detection capabilities missed. It appears an Everest operative was also on the cleaning crew. Oh, I hacked Everest” Babs threw in, like it was nothing. “That’s how they found out about Kingsman. That’s how you got on their radar. We already know how they found out about Ra’s obsession with Tim” Oracle added dourly, alluding to the film obtained showing Talia Al Ghul with Michael Ainsley. Somebody was still going to have to explain that to poor Dami. Babs was glad it wouldn’t be her.

“Does Batman know about this?” Harry asked, figuring he probably already knew the answer.

Barbara didn’t disappoint. “Sure. So do Red Robin and the rest of the team. They’re on patrol right now. I’ll notify you when they come back in.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Oracle.” By mutual consent, the joint meeting ended.

“Well ain’t that right bloody interesting” Merlin, quiet until now, commented.

“Quite” Harry agreed. “Call the Kingsman together” he instructed. “We’ve plans to make.”

“Plans, Harry?” the abbreviated question came from Eggsy.

“No more reacting” Harry answered, mind clearly working at an alarming rate behind the black framed lenses.

Eggsy straightened. He knew that look well. The Everest blokes were in for a spot of rough sledding. Al Ghul too, if they got round to him.

“It’s time we went on the offensive. If Everest and this Ra’s Al Ghul chap wanted Kingsman’s attention, well now they’ve got it.” Hart turned on his heel for the Kingsman briefing room. Eggsy smirked and followed. He refused to feel bad for Everest and Al Ghul. They started it.

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“How is my mother involved in all of this?” Damian demanded to know, cornering Bruce in his study after the Batfamily’s version of breakfast. This family didn’t exactly keep regular hours, but then, they weren’t exactly normal either.

“Damian” Bruce answered, trying for a tone which he hoped would end the discussion without igniting his youngest son’s volatile temper. He was much better at controlling his emotions and reactions than when he’d first come to Wayne Manor, but when it came to Talia, Damian’s flashpoint was never far from the surface. Bruce would forever be of two minds regarding the mother of his child. Gratitude to her for giving Damian life continually warred with his fury at what that life had been like under her so-called “care”. Talia’s soul wasn’t totally corrupted, unlike her father, but she wasn’t Ra’s Al Ghul’s daughter for nothing. Manipulative and ruthless, given a choice, she’d choose herself every time. Poor Damian never stood a chance as long as he lived under her influence. Bruce might never undo all the damage she’d caused, but for the love of his son, he was damned well never going to stop trying. 

“No, Father” Damian interrupted before Bruce said another word, “I demand to know” the 13-year-old said firmly, drawing himself up to his full not as impressive as he would have preferred height. “The man my mother was with, the picture on the monitor in the Batcave, the man is Michael Ainsley, is he not? Is he not one of those we’ve identified as being a member of the Everest Council? Is he not part of the group that tried to kidnap Drake? Their intention was to deliver him to Grandfather. Is that not correct? How is my mother connected to them? What is her role, Father?” The child had started the series of questions calmly enough, but as he spoke, his words picked up speed. By the time he’d asked the last question, Damian was nearly hyperventilating.

“Can’t Dark Knight your way out of this one, old man.” Jason stood in the doorway, not hostile, not friendly, only neutral. “Tell him the truth. She’s his mother, and you know what they say, if he’s old enough to ask, he’s old enough to hear it” Jason added, throwing in a little sass for good measure. His own twisted history with Talia Al Ghul didn’t enter into it. (It didn’t! Shut up Tim).

“Jason, please” Bruce addressed his second son. He felt a twinge beginning over his left eye.

“Father, Todd, for once in his life, astonishingly enough, is correct-“ this from Damian. 

“Gee, thanks, brat” Jason mumbled nearly inaudibly.

“Jason, could you **please** give us a few moments alone” Bruce requested as politely as he could, trying to keep the sarcasm from creeping in. The paradox of requesting a private conversation with his own youngest son in his own study in his own home was not lost on him.

Jason glanced at Damian. The two of them might have their differences, but if mini-Batman needed backup to make their father come clean, Jason wasn’t going anywhere. Damian returned the look with a slight shake of his head. The older brother shrugged and made to leave.

Jason’s mocking grin at his father as he backed slowly out of the room made Bruce want to grind his teeth, but he refused to succumb to the impulse. A part of him rejoiced a tiny bit at the sign of growing closeness between his two most troublesome children, then he turned to give Damian his full attention. Jason had one thing right. Damian was old enough to leave well- intentioned half- truths out of the mix.

“Sit down, son. I’ll tell you what we know” Bruce started out.

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“So, the nanites work, Master Timothy?” Alfred asked of Tim down in the Batcave, eyeing the lifeless mass of protozoa on Red’s lab table. No longer oozing or pulsing in any way, the container of matter was obviously dead. The butler and Tim both tried to ignore the sounds of retching coming from the med-bay. Dick. Can’t really blame him, RR conceded. Not gonna lie, dead proto was stank. It was going to take some serious venting to de-funk the cave. The bats were extremely not happy, the original occupants having a much keener sense of smell than the cave’s human-come- latelys. Oh well, good cause and all that. 

“Yeah, Alfred” Tim answered, sounding immensely pleased with the results. He had a right to be. These nanites were going to kick Ra’s balls so hard the old perv would have to wait another 800 years for them both to drop again. If Tim’s side got their way, Ra’s wasn’t going to get that time.

“My congratulations then” Alfred told the young man, beaming. All his grandchildren were accomplished as far as he was concerned, but Alfred could not help but be a little extra proud of this one right now. The boy’s mind was simply astounding.

“Alfred, come on” Tim pressed his surrogate grandfather, “you know it wouldn’t have happened without you and Leslie. This is your win too” Tim smiled back, giving Alfred a one- armed hug. “Sorry about the smell” he apologized. 

“Nonsense, lad. This is a pittance. Remind me to tell you about the time I had to hide out from an aggressively persistent enemy patrol in the back of manure truck. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t in bags” Alfred chuckled.

“Oo, family bonding time? Don’t tell Dickie!” Jason cracked, descending the steps two at a time. “You should see Bruce’s face. He’s upstairs trying to stumble his way thru-Oh fuu-“ notices Alfred starting to frown, “Oh fudge! What is that?! It smells like I crawled in here and died again!” he yelped, covering his nose and mouth, making a gagging noise.

“The nanites work” Tim informed his brother, rolling his eyes at Jason’s reaction. Ham. “They work exactly like they’re supposed to. They’ve been tested and retested and then tested again. They work” Red said again, unable to keep the broad grin off his face.

“They do?! Timmy that’s fantastic!” Dick exclaimed, coming from the medical bay, one hand on his T-shirt covered washboard abs. He hadn’t expected his normally cast- iron constitution to betray him like this. Dick and his stomach would be having words later. This was embarrassing. He was Nightwing for crying out loud! A couple more steps closer to the lab area and the smell hit him again. He U turned back towards the bathroom.

“You have success brother?” Cass was suddenly there, apparently unphased by the, uh, aroma permeating the cave. She kind of was. Some of the things Cass had smelled in her unconventional lifetime, this didn’t even crack her top ten.

“ _We’ve_ had success, Sis” Tim corrected happily. No way could he take sole credit for this, and he wasn’t going to try. He hugged her. Cass had always been one of his main cheerleaders. 

“Show me” Bruce came up beside him, trailed by a shaken looking Damian. Tim eyed his little brother with concern, giving Bruce a quizzical look. His father gave a nearly non- existent headshake, a signal to leave it alone.

“Show me” Bruce repeated, “and then have Oracle open the connection to Kingsman. We have a lot planning to do.” By the time he was finished talking, he didn’t sound like Bruce anymore. He was fully inhabited by the Batman.

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**End of Part 7**

_A/N: Ok, first of all, Talia is a real piece of work. I think we can all agree on that. “Mom” messed Damian up almost as bad as Ra’s did. Bruce has many faults, but up against Talia, he looks like Parent of the Year! As for the “protozoan mass” Tim used to do his nanite test, I took Earth Science in high school, not biology, I have zero scientific background and the only thing I know about genetics is that I have genes, so I winged it. I hope it makes some small amount of sense. If not, it’s fanfiction, so, eh. Same for the telepathy thing. At any rate, having fun writing and can only hope you are having fun reading. At least one more chapter, maybe two to go. See ya! (I hope)._


	8. Slipping Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bats and Kingsman close in on their common enemies and Everest makes their move. (Or, where fools fear to tread, the Batclan and Kingsman rush right on in, naturally)

**Chapter 8-Slipping Into Darkness**

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Bats take Ra’s and Kingsman takes on the Everest Council. Divide and conquer and all that. That was the plan, for each half of the team to do what they did best. Or, as Tim put it, “Kingsman kicks Everest in the nuts and we’ll kick Ra’s. It’s what we’re good at. Besides, a person should do what makes them happy.”

Bruce Wayne and Harry Hart briefly considered the strategy. “A sound principal” Hart affirmed.

“I can live with it” Bruce conceded. 

Seated closest to his father in the Batcave after breakfast, (no business conducted during mealtimes by decree of the great and powerful Pennyworth) Damian gave a small, vicious fist pump. For someone who’d lived so long, one would _think_ Ra’s Al Ghul would have learned how to treat people, but, **NO** , the teen reflected bitterly to himself, grandfather had to keep behaving like a card- carrying bung hole. (He’d heard Eggsy Unwin use the term the other day and it had stayed with him. Damian preferred accurately descriptive language). Genocide, a corporate business model based on murder, never ending efforts to coerce Timothy to his side. Respect for his Al Ghul family line had been trained into him from birth, but sometimes Damian wanted to cut Ra’s balls off with a rusty dagger, watch him bleed out, then throw him in the Pit so they could grow back, haul him out alive and do it all over again. As for his mother and finding out she’d collaborated with Everest merely to spite his grandfather, uuughh! What a family! He wanted to scream but had his other family’s dignity to consider. The son of the Batman did **NOT** throw hissy fits because of his mommy. Sigh.

Pushing WE business onto Lucius Fox’s desk for the duration, the Batfamily gathered for a strategy session. With everyone (but Steph and Duke) living at the manor while **reliable** testing and vaccines were developed and distributed for COVID-19 (which had taken a lot longer that it should have thanks to the prior administration’s piss poor, disjointed pandemic non- response, don’t get him started, Bruce fumed), getting everybody together to plan was a simple thing. (Thank God the new U.S. President actually cared about the nation he’d just taken charge over.) Bruce had expected to have more problems keeping the peace among his volatile offspring, but so far, apart from minor spats and minimal carping and moaning (mostly from Jason, who he suspected was doing it mainly for show), harmony reigned. He’d been tempted to question it but was trying to follow Alfred’s advice to “not look a gift bat peace in the mouth, sir.”

“You tracked them down, O?” Tim was asking. He was referring to certain members of the Everest Council. Several of the elitist troublemaking group had disappeared from both Kingsman and Bat radar briefly, an alarming development under the circumstances. Alison MacLeod, Cyril Coughlin and Aiman bin Mamat to be precise. They had to be located before they could be dealt with.

“Yeah, Red, I got ‘em” Barbara answered confidently. “They have some kind of virtual connection that looks like it was designed to be _unhackable_.” Oracle made the same kind of sound a game show contestant hears when giving a wrong answer. “I don’t know who they hired to set up their computer security but whoever it is was overpaid. Anyway, I tapped in without too much trouble and tracked their travel arrangements. You’ll dig this B. MacLeod, Mamat and Coughlin are all in Canada, specifically, Nova Scotia.”

“Nineteen” Tim nodded. “Does Kingsman know?”

“Who am I? Of course, passed the info on right away” Babs told her Gotham listeners with a smug (NOT) smile. (It was NOT smug, SHUT UP DICK!). “I’m pretty sure Eggsy’s on his way to Canada right now with plenty of Kingsman backup. He’s gonna need it. I’m ninety-nine percent certain the rest of Everest is there too, along with their security.”

“What about Grandfather?” Damian wanted to know. He was _really_ anxious to… discuss things with his mother’s father. The old fart.

“Well, that’s the best part R” Oracle supplied. “Ra’s is there too. As a matter of fact, as far as I can tell, Everest came scurrying to Canada because the Demon’s Head said to. He whistled, they came running.”

“Just like good dogs” Jason sneered.

“Do not presume to insult the honor of dogs, Todd. They are noble creatures. There’s no comparison” Damian objected, stroking Titus’s large head affectionately.

Jason started to snap back, then stopped, considering his younger brother’s words more objectively, then shrugged. Kid had a point.

“You’re right brat. Sorry” he apologized.

Damian gaped, briefly nonplussed. Jason Todd just agreed with him. He made a mental note to start checking for signs that Todd had not been kidnapped and replaced with a pre-programmed clone. The boy knew such a thing was possible because, well, Talia. He jerked his attention back to the conversation.

“If Ra’s and Everest are in Canada, then we’re headed north” Bruce announced to his clan. “Tim, get your nanites into a travel mug. If I know Ra’s, and, unhappily, I do, we’re going to need them. Besides, I have another job for you, Damian and Cass once we’re in the air.”

“We’re taking the jet” Dick stated. He’d been unusually quiet to this point. With the smell from the expired proto gone, his stomach had finally settled, but now he was in Nightwing head space, a quixotic place often, a visionary place more than most people thought, a dangerous place for anyone who got on his bad side.

“Yes” Bruce confirmed to his eldest son. “Flying commercial right now is definitely out. Besides, the plane can be turned into a flying Batcave and we’re going to need the lab and stealth capabilities. No sense in alarming the Canadians.” 

Dick concurred. He liked Canadians. They were nice people.

“Wheel’s up in two hours. Oracle, let Kingsman know where things stand, will you?”

“Will do, B” Barbara confirmed, “and…Godspeed” Oracle signed off. The family confab broke up as the Bats left to prepare themselves and their resources for the upcoming fight.

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**3 A.M. Gotham Time, 1 hour later in Nova Scotia**

_PAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN!!!!!KILLLTHEMALLKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEM!! K….KILL…KILLTHEM AND DRINK THEIR BLOOD!!KILLLLLLLLLLKILLLLLLLLLHURTPAINDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!!!!IMUSTKILLTHEMALL!!!! KILLLLLLKTHEMMMM!!! DIEDIEDIE! THEYMUSTALLDIE!!! BLOOD!BLOOD! DRINKOFTHEM!!PAINPAINPAIN!!!!!_

_Darkness. Glowing, breathing darkness without end. Unable to live, unable to die. No rest, only confusion and pain, then no pain, then pain once more. Endlessly and forever, hell unceasing. The green, glowing darkness eternally. Without end and without mercy. Hate and pain. Confusion and madness. Wandering. No rest, no comfort, no…nothing. Scream! Scream! Beg for release that will NEVER come!! Help me!! Please someone, help me!!! HELP ME!!!!! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...KILLTHEMALLKILLTHEMALLKILLTHEMALLKILLTHEM!!!!!!..._

Breaking the link, Alison MacLeod sat bold upright in bed, bathed in sweat. Useless, Useless. MacLeod pounded the 1000 thread count sheets on her bed in frustration. She and the other three remaining members of Everest had been mind-linked for hours. They were attempting to break thru the fog of rage and pain surrounding the minds of Cyril Coughlin and Aiman bin Mamat, but it was no use. It was impossible, at least so far. After slaughtering both men like hogs, Ra’s Al Ghul had their corpses, one after the other, thrown unceremoniously into the emerald, agitated, turbid waters of his recently constructed Lazarus Pit. The result, for each, was fascinating and horrifying.

For the telepathically joined minds of the Council, feeling the terror of both men at the moment of death was nothing compared to the jarring jolt of reawakening! To see the mutilated, eviscerated bodies wholly healed and reanimated was…beyond surreal. Ra’s Al Ghul’s amused contempt barely registered as the survivors of Everest struggled to contain both physical and mental reactions when Coughlin and Mamat emerged from the verdant, bubbling liquid roaring with mad rage. MacLeod hugged the wall, shuddering violently while Valentina Guayta spewed bile all over the nearest ninja. Fraysson and Olatunji were visibly shaken but fought not to react further.

After being bloodied and mangled, Al Ghul’s ninja, used to containing the Pit enraged, finally managed to subdue both men. One of the ninja suffered a broken neck. His buddies were gonna throw him in the Pit later. What did these fools expect? Ra’s sniffed with distaste. They wanted the Pit? Well this was it. This was the Lazarus Pit. This was what it did for you and to you, and they could not be separated. The price of eternal life was the companion curse of abiding psychosis. Centuries of repeated exposure had largely inured the Demon’s Head to the Pit’s madness inducing effects. In other words, he’d learned how to live with it, but for others, this was the price they would have to pay. Shoving it down their throats like this was entertaining for Ra’s Al Ghul, but traumatic for the Council. A slap in the face of their hysterical ambition for Pit access. The problem was, they needed that access. In order to fulfull years of purpose, of planning, of manipulation of global events, in order to achieve their ultimate goal, the Lazarus Pits were indispensable. Everest **MUST** have them, even if that meant wresting control of them, which also probably meant either gaining control of or eliminating his ninja army somehow, from their current possessor. Ra’s Al Ghul was the deadliest enemy the Everest Council had ever come against, but he was standing between them and the Lazarus Pits, so, he had to go.

Without the Pits, Everest plan to use a specifically mutated version of the Coronavirus currently ravaging every country in the world came with an unacceptable risk. The scientists and researchers the Council had carefully embedded in government and private research and medical teams currently studying the virus helped them to understand that all too well. Everest hoped to harness their own modified version of COVID-19 in order to target the populations of humanity deemed unnecessary for the planet’s continued efficient survival. After all, they didn’t have a problem with Richmond Valentine’s ultimate goal, it was simply that the way he’d gone about making it happen was so stupidly messy and… just not going to happen. Expecting almost 7 billion humans to beat, strangle, stab or otherwise kill one another off! Seriously? It was doomed to fail! Of course, it was. Targeted, deliberate population management was the only way to go. Any fool could see that! But in order to turn their plans into reality without risking their own lives, Everest needed those damned Lazarus Pits! If temporary insanity was the price they would have to pay, so be it. If Ra’s Al Ghul did not cooperate, he would be killed. Mamat and Coughlin were out of play. It would have to be the four of them that were left. If they did it right, that would be more than enough. Very well. They got comfortable, reestablished the link and got back to work. 

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Eggsy rotated the small device between his fingers, bringing it close enough to examine it in minute detail. Jean McCallum, Kingsman’s Lancelot and Dixon Cleese, Percival, were doing pretty much the same. The three agents were on a Kingsman jet headed for Canada. As with the Batjet, the aircraft carrying Unwin and his friends to Nova Scotia was stealth tech equipped and was capable of becoming an on-site command center, at least for a while. It had all the comforts of home, weapons, wardrobe (the bullet-resistant kind), and lab and tech tools. It was fully loaded, even came with a Merlin. Seeing the red-headed, youthful James manning that station, Eggsy had a brief flashback of the old Merlin in that chair when Kingsman went after Valentine. He shook it off.

“Say again mate?” Eggsy asked Merlin, amazed. “This is what now?” he requested, handling the miniature sample of electronic wizardry with the delicacy it seemed to demand. During his tour as a Kingman operative, he’d seen and heard some pretty incredible stuff, been part of a lot of it. Things he couldn’t never tell anyone about, not even Tilde, not that he’d be believed if he did, but this? Such things, such people actually existed? This wasn’t some con game? Someone’s kooky idea of a joke? This was reality? Real reality? Nobody messing about with his head?

From the looks he, Lancelot and Percival, (his fellow agents wore the same skeptical face Eggsy did), were getting from Harry in London and Bruce Wayne on the other half of the split comm screen, what Merlin had just told them and handed them was about as far from joking as anyone could get. First a 800-year-old deviant with infinity pools from Hell and now telepaths. Real deal, serious business. Not a haha in sight.

“What you have in your hands, courtesy of Oracle and myself, with an invaluable amount of help from some of Batman’s allies I might add, is a device which will block any attempt by the Everest Council to remotely control your thought processes or actions. Plus, it’ll keep them out of your heads. They won’t be able to know what you’re thinking” Merlin repeated congenially, like he got asked about this sort of stuff every day. Who knows, reflected Eggsy. It was Merlin. Maybe he did. Merlin was a lovely chap, really, but sometimes he weirded Eggsy out a little. So smart it was scary, like Tim Wayne.

“You’re telling us these Everest nutters can communicate thru telepathy? That it’s a real thing? They don’t have to talk to each other? They can just…what…think it?” Percival didn’t even try pretending to accept what he was being told. All three agents lives might depend on the info they were being provided. They had to be able to trust it.

“Yes” Harry Hart responded, the glimmer in their boss’s eyes was it’s own unspoken communication. “That is precisely it. It’s all real. You are awake, not asleep and dreaming. Telepathy is a “thing” and it’s one of the Everest Council’s chief weapons. One we need to be able to counter if we’re going to defeat them. That bit of technology you hold in your hands will go a long way to help us do exactly that.”

“Arthur” Eggsy began, acknowledging Harry’s status as Kingsman’s leader, “how do we know all of this? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t not believe it, but telepaths aren’t something we run across every day. Um, how did this come up? How do we know it’s, um, this is really bizarre, Harry” Eggsy confessed, falling back on he and Harry Hart’s prior history. Saving the world together a couple of times gave the two men a peculiar kind of kinship.

“We’re living in a world of flying aliens, the JLA and where people like Richmond Valentine and Poppy Adams are becoming the rule, not the exception. Really, Galahad, are telepathic villains really that difficult a concept to swallow?” Harry asked, openly smiling now. Hart had made his peace with the stunning new norm. Now his agents had to suck it up and do the same, and fast. 

“The Justice League has telepaths on our team” Bruce Wayne interjected, joining the conversation for the first time. Batman had been monitoring the Kingsman line from his own airborne center of operations while piloting duties were being handled by his two eldest sons. “We Bats are somewhat familiar with behavior patterns exhibited by people with telepathic abilities.” Bruce didn’t mention magic users. No need to blow the British agents minds completely. “Some of what Everest has been doing fit those patterns, so I consulted our telepaths. They agreed that’s almost certainly part of the equation. If Kingsman is going up against them, you need to be ready for it.” He’d been right before, Eggsy smiled internally. Watching Harry Hart and Bruce Wayne maneuver around each other had been every bit as much fun as he’d anticipated, a couple of bull elephants trying not to trample the other’s patch. Hilarious. 

“Too fu -um, too bleedin’ right we do” Eggsy agreed, with a side look at Lancelot. Lady present and all. “Then I expect these little blighters” he indicated the earpiece sized gadget in his hands, “will come in very handy. But what about you lot? Won’t you need some sort of protection from them too? And what about Al Ghul? You have him to sort out.”

Bruce smiled in grim amusement, thinking of fear gas, Joker toxin, Ivy’s potions and the Mad Hatter. Don’t get him started with mind controlling aliens and magic wielders. Especially magic wielders. They were the absolute worst, the ones on his side excepted, mostly.

“Don’t worry about us” Wayne assured, his Batman smile made the Kingsman personnel draw back a little, even though they knew it wasn’t meant for them. “We’ll be fine” he insisted, Rubbing one fist inside the palm of the other hand. You nail Everest. Ra’s is all ours. See you there. Batman out.” The connection closed.

“ **Approaching drop zone, ETA approximately 30 minutes”** came the pilot’s notification. The Kingsman team began to arm up and suit up. It was nearly game time.

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**_“It is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both”._** The quote from Niccolo Machiavelli should be tattooed across the Demon’s Head’s black heart, Damian brooded as he followed his father, brothers and sister deeper into the dense Acadian forest surrounding the estate known as Nineteen. Leave it to his grandfather, the boy contemplated acidly, to ruin a trip thru such beautiful landscape as this, with all it’s rich plant and animal life to be celebrated and enjoyed. Normally, in these types of surroundings, Damian would be trying to see how many different animals he could identify and get close to. But, **NOOOOO** , there was no time for that now. Now he and his family had to put all their energy toward the imminent assault on a place currently housing the daft Everest Council and that cranky old goat going by the name of Ra’s Al Ghul. Sometimes his family tree made the boy wish for a big bottle of weed killer. He sighed, trying not to be too obvious about it.

“Steady Damian, this too shall pass” Tim advised from immediately in front of the youngest Bat. “Don’t let it get you down.”

“I don’t need your advice, Drake!” Damian returned vehemently, flushing under his mask. “And aside from that, how do you even know what I am thinking?” he questioned, trying to cover his moodiness.

Tim smile crookedly under his own mask. “That’s your ‘why does my grandfather have to suck so hard face’, little brother. I’ve seen it often enough to recognize it.” He touched Damian on the shoulder. “We’re gonna win this one. Together.” Tim patted the hard-sided satchel at his hip carrying the precious Pit killing nanites in their cushioned transparent aluminum tube. Red moved ahead, closing the gap between himself and Cass.

Okay, the teenager decided, so maybe he felt a little better now, not that he was willing to let Ti-Drake, know that. He was not willing to concede that he and the older boy might be making actually be growing closer to being brothers. They were, but Damian wasn’t willing to admit it yet. Not yet.

Leading the way, Batman held up a glove enclosed hand. Except for Bruce, the Batfamily assault team were clad in their regular patrol body armour for their trek thru the dense, leafy terrain and upcoming battle. Masks, both bat and PPE, gloves and other gear were on hand in as plentiful supply as possible, but, to Damian’s silent disappointment, no capes. He agreed they would have been extremely impractical given the circumstances, snagging on branches and other foliage, but he secretly missed his long cape with its detachable hood. He personally thought it made him more intimidating, more like his father. Stop this! Mother would have had him punished for letting his mind wander this way. He frowned at allowing Talia a place in his thoughts right now and forced himself to concentrate on following the brother ahead of him.

Bruce consulted a navigational tool attached to his gauntlet computer. “The rendezvous point with Kingsman is three kilometers east” Batman informed his children. “Let’s go.” He moved off, knowing they followed.

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_Ra’s Al Ghul had his hand around Batman’s heart. He had to admit, holding the beating heart of his greatest enemy in his grip was a **RUSH!** Really, other people ought to give it a try. Might even be a cure for depression, not that Ra’s gave a damn about other people being depressed, or, you know, about other people. It was just, his own heart hadn’t sped up like this since he didn’t know when, and it felt…oooohhhhhhh yeesssssss! Seeing the man almost all the rest of the world knew as Bruce Wayne in his knees in agony at his feet…The Demon’s Head wanted to do a double fist pump but then he would have had to let go of the heart and no way was that going to happen until Wayne was dead. _

_Ra’s wanted the fool to suffer first, both physically and mentally, while his children, particularly Al Ghul’s chosen successor, Timothy, watched, helpless to intervene. The Batman had been an obstacle for far too long. First the man had the audacity to refuse the greatest gift possible to be bestowed on anyone, the throne of the Demon’s Head, then he’d rejected the daughter of the Demon, Talia, (not that that really mattered to RA’s in the grand scheme of things, Talia’s relationships were always a mess anyway). Then, just the prospect of life as Batman’s protégé had lured away the body Ra’s had chosen to house his spirit once he decided he’d had enough of the one he was using now. That vessel now had the nerve to call itself by the name Damian **WAYNE**! It grated on Ra’s Al Ghul nerves. But the ultimate indignity, the final blow, the straw that had broken the proverbial camel’s back was that Bruce Wayne and his damnable crusade and highly questionable parenting skills had been held up against the prospect of life as the heir presumptive to the Leader of the League of Assassins, Ra’s Al Ghul by Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne and Ra’s had been found wanting. Come in second. Been the runner-up. Number two. Dos. Missed it by that much. AAAAUUUGGGGHHH! Just thinking about it made him want to squeeze the heart in his hand a little tighter. Made him want to hear Batman’s son’s, including Timothy, especially Timothy, beg futilely for Ra’s to spare the spare the life of their cockroach pseudo father. Ra’s discounted the daughter. She was of no value. Women were tools to be used by men. Nothing more. This Cassandra Cain Wayne was no threat to him. _

_No, Ra’s wanted Timothy to watch, hurting and powerless, as Ra’s Al Ghul crushed the life of the boy’s inferior choice before his eyes. As Ra’s proved beyond all doubt that **he** was the superior, the only real choice. Al Ghul smiled coldly, feeling the wave of power wash over him. It was, what was the crude euphemism? Ah, yes, better than sex. He chuckled darkly. Ra’s had bedded thousands of women in 800 years. Better indeed. _

_“Ra’s. NO! Ra’s no, no, no! Don’t, please, don’t! Don’t kill him! Please don’t kill him! I’m begging you, don’t kill him! please! please! please! please! please! Don’t! PLEASE!” the frantic, hysterical pleas of Ra’s heir rose above the cries and cursing of Wayne’s other children, who lay disarmed and defenseless at the hands of Al Ghul’s army of ninja._

_One of the young ones in particular, Jason Todd, absurdly called the “Red Hood”, (what a ridiculous title to choose for one’s self) was distinctly loud and vulgar. The boy lay on his belly, spewing imprecations like a foul mouthed fountain, while the eldest, Richard Grayson, known as “Nightwing”, another absurdity-where were they getting these outlandish names-sprawled unmoving and unconscious at the by way of four of Ra’s minions while his so called “grandson”, Damian, the latest “Robin” and the girl Cassandra, whom Ra’s understood to be known as “Black Bat” growled incoherently and weep mute tears respectively._

_“Crawl” the Demon’s Head demanded of his selected protégé. “Crawl to me on your knees. Humble yourself to plead for his life” Al Ghul hissed to Timothy Wayne. Ra’s chilling smile expanded widely as he saw the boy, released from the iron hold of three of Ra’s ninjas, drop unhesitatingly to his knees, tears streaming unashamedly down his face, and begin to crawl on all fours, slowly inching his way to Ra’s Al Ghul’s feet._

_“Please, Ra’s”-Tim began-_

_“Master!!” Ra’s interrupted spitefully. The child must be retrained, must be made to realize his position, that his options were only those Ra’s allowed to him. There must no more rebellion on Timothy’s part, no more resistance to the unavoidable destiny Ra’s has selected for him. “You will address me as Master, Timothy! As my heir, you will show me proper respect! Finally!” Ra’s pronounced._

_Timothy’s sobs resounded throughout the room, again drowning out, at least to Ra’s ears, the pleas, curses and tears of his siblings. “Please, Master” Tim implored, throat raw with emotion. He threw himself at Ra’s Al Ghul’s feet, stretching the last millimeters to place his lips on the toe of Ra’s right soft booted foot. “Please Master” Tim repeated desperately, “Please, I beg you, Master, please spare his life. Please don’t take him from us! Please, please, Please!”_

_The Demon’s Head’s eyes glowed with pleasure. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the heady perfume of victory over his ultimate enemy. Not only would he take Bruce Wayne’s life as payment for the fool’s rejection of Ra’s gift, but he would, at last, claim Wayne’s son, the only son of value, to sit on the Demon throne in the time of Ra’s choosing. This was far better than the sex of a million women. An orgasmic release indescribable! He waited until Timothy’s tear-streaked face met his own, waited to see the horrified realization upon the boy’s face, until his heir understood that all his frenzied entreaties were for naught, that all power was held in Ra’s, in his master’s hands to wield as Ra’s pleased._

_“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Tim screamed hoarsely, leaping forward in vain to try and stop what was happening._

_Ra’s bared his teeth in a savagely triumphant grin as his grip tightened fatally crushing the Batman’s beating-_

**_CAREFUL_** , Eric, Valentina Guayta said thru the mind-link to her fellow Everest member Eric Fraysson. This is not a normal mind we contend with. Do not overextend. Your pour too much of yourself into this! She admonished.

The two Council members secluded in a separate part of the fortified estate had joined their minds together as Everest made their move to manipulate and defang the Leader of the League of Assassins. Telepathy was a meta ability of the entire council, but Guayta and Fraysson also carried the gift of being able to remotely control the minds of others. Each one, alone was powerful, but the Council had decided that Ra’s Al Ghul was a formidable enough opponent to warrant a combined attack. They did so now, surrounded by the insensate bodies of the ninja guards Al Ghul had mistakenly believed would be sufficient to contain those he thought too fearful to defy him. Unless subjected to the Lazarus Pits, those ninjas would never rise again. Their brains had been turned to gelatinous mush.

I KNOW what I am doing, Valentina. This is hardly the first time I’ve done this! Fraysson huffed thru the link, sending his indignation at having his abilities questioned along with the thought. Let us continue, the others are waiting, and there is much left to accomplish. Fraysson refocused, as did his companion, pouring valuable effort and concentration into the elaborate fantasy the pair of Everest metas were constructing inside the sleeping mind of their primary foe. 

Meanwhile, in Ra’s Al Ghul’s sumptuous quarters, several more of his ninjas arrived and clustered round him in his silk sheet covered king-sized bed, exchanging nervous looks, surveying the bodies of their downed comrades, afraid to awaken their master from the throes of what appeared to be a fevered nightmare. The Demon’s Head shuddered, full body. They dared not touch him. To do so might mean death.

Ra’s eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids and _his fist clenched in finality as in his meta induced dream state, he slowly, cruelly extinguished the light of Bruce Wayne and the Batman from the world forever!_

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Losing the ability to walk to a psychotic freak’s homicidal tantrum would have put a lot of people down for good. It had put her face flush with rock bottom, and Barbara Gordon had to admit, within herself if to no one else, that for a while there it hadn’t looked or felt like she was going to get back up. That she could get back up. Like there was any reason to get back up, anything worth coming back to. Joker’s ballistic gut punch had taken her legs and for a time, she’d believed it had taken the rest of her, all the parts that counted. Turned out, she was wrong. Turned out that deep, dark hole she’d crawled into after waking up in the hospital and finding out her life had changed forever wasn’t a dead end, it was a tunnel. It lead right thru Joker’s twisted funhouse brain and opened up onto the rest of her life. She lay in bed recovering and dreamed. And when she woke up, she wasn’t just Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon’s daughter and the former Batgirl. Now she was Oracle too, and just like the mythic Pythia, she would know all that was to be known, all that mattered.

The Batman’s intelligence gathering capabilities were legendary among the hero community, whispered about with no small amount of envy. No non-meta human should be able to do what he did, it was uncanny, unnerving to some and nearly unequaled. Nearly. There was one person who could keep up with him, and that was Oracle. Barb had no biological children, but her electronic children were her real babies anyway. Between her computers, her hacking chops, and her eyes around Gotham in the form of cameras (love that CC) there was very, very little that she didn’t know or couldn’t find out. There was a reason the Bats and her own team, the Birds of Prey, who at the moment kept watch over Gotham in Batman’s absence, mimicked the ancient Greeks and consulted with their own Oracle before taking on any enemy.

Bruce hadn’t been exaggerating before about the security surrounding Nineteen. The place was an all you can eat buffet of security traps but thanks to the genius of Oracle and Merlin, Batman and his joint team, consisting of his kids and the heavily armed, tricked out trio of Kingsman had breached and were now winding their soundless, so far undetected way thru one of the most secretive and heavily guarded places in North America. Designed to be all kinds of nobody else’s business, the Nineteen fortress estate that served as the Everest meta’s base in this part of the world generally held it’s secrets with a closed fist, but even Nineteen didn’t just appear out of the ground one day, fully pimped like a black ops day spa. Somebody had to build the place. Somebody had to install all those security features, and computers and electronic key pads that demanded DNA and thumbprints and retina scans. And whether Everest liked it or not, that meant contractors and contractors meant work crews and technicians and people who went out after work, before the pandemic anyway, for beers with coworkers and friends. It meant blueprints, and hackable systems and that the layout of one of world’s most well armored places had a chink, a weak spot, cracks that anybody determined enough and with access to the right tools could wiggle thru.

Red Robin was about to exploit one of those cracks to the fullest extent his remarkable brain allowed for which was a whole freakin’ lot. The farther Tim slipped into this darkness, the more pissed off he got. Just had to keep yanking my chain, didn’t ya Ra’s. Over and over. Leave me alone, I said. I don’t want to be your heir, your apprentice or your girlfriend, I said. I have a life in Gotham, I said. Pick somebody else and leave me the hell alone, I told you. Repeatedly. But you just have to keep coming, sending ninjas and love tokens and poisoned floral bouquets, creepin’ on me all hours of the day and night. **EEEWWW!** Well, enough. No more. I’m done. I’m coming for you and your damn Lazarus Pits.

And he was mad at Cass and Jason right now too, lil bit, but for a quite different reason, so he was feeling a little…salty.

Protected via the same telepathy blocking tech worn by Eggsy Unwin and his fellow Kingsman, and additionally, because of COVID-19, N95 masks, Tim, Jason and Cass crept ninja-like (there’s that slut irony again) down a long dimly lit steel walled corridor pocked by several recessed doorways. Oracle’s online sleuthing and Queen of the Universe hacking skills, all hail Oracle and the Everest cyberpukes can suck it, blew thru the opposition’s firewalls and now pointed the brothers and sister right where they wanted to go as surely as any guided tour.

Splitting off from Batman, Robin and Nightwing and the Kingsman agents, all of whom had their own separate objectives to achieve, they’d already swept several of Ra’s ninja off the board, sadly, in Hood’s opinion anyway, not for good, but they were out of play. Keeping RR between them, at both his and Cass’s quiet but unshakeable insistence, Red Hood had taken out the first two assassin guards and then BB took out the next set, leapfrogging over a mentally steaming Tim to take her turn at point. Red Robin bristled. He didn’t need his hand held, his nose wiped, or his diaper changed. He was a grown up hero, with a cape and everything, fully able to watch his own back, and front and the rest of him! Big brother and big sister didn’t need to be trying to do it for him. He could hold up his end with any trouble along the way! The way Cass and Jason had insisted on doing this was unnecessary! Why didn’t they get that? Cass had smiled that patient smile of hers that drove Tim bananas, mainly because he knew it meant he’d already lost and she was just humoring him, and given him a small pat on the head. Jason had snorted, knocked Tim on his butt with a combat boot to the chest then plunked the younger vigilante in between him and Cass and taken the lead.

Holding his breath as Jason rendered a sixth ninja unconscious, Tim noticed as they advance a little further that the path ahead took a sharp turn and changed drastically from steel lined to stone. Really old stone masonry, the musty smell of lichen covered walls and rock exposed to decades if not centuries of damp atmosphere replacing the sterile non-smell of metal. The three siblings were getting closer, to what Red wasn’t totally sure yet, but if it was what he hoped it was, well, bop, bop a loo bop a lop bang boom, and damn if wasn’t party time!

Hood held up a fist, the universal signal for **STOP.** Communicating thru ASL, he let his younger brother and sister know they’d reached what was likely an important juncture, indicated by the eight ninja vigilantly standing watch over whatever lay just beyond his view. Carved stone steps led downward. Unable to see where past the point where light ended despite his helmet’s enhancements, Jason pulled back so the three of them could formulate a plan of attack that shielded Tim and his crucial nanite cargo. Red Robin ground his teeth. He packed his irritation away to be dealt with at a later date. Right now, ain’t nobody …well, you know. He’d give Cass and Jason hell for treating him like he was breakable once they were back home. Correction. He’d give Jason hell. Never Cass. Like all the brothers, he adored his sister. She was a goddess among sisters and could do no wrong. Plus, she could kick his ass in her sleep. What they had need of now was Tim’s tactical mojo. Even Batman (grudgingly sometimes, ‘cause, Bruce), acknowledged that Red Robin was arguably the Bats best strategist. So, just as in the cave, preparing to talk his way out of isolation, Tim gave his gray matter a shake, cracked his mental knuckles and got to strategizing. When they were ready, all three Bats moved in for the figurative kill, again, nothing permanent to Hood’s unspoken disapproval. Here’s the thing. All three of the Bat kids were to varying degrees, alums of the league’s fighting styles, techniques and teachers. Tim’s time with the League during his hell year looking for Bruce was better left unmentioned, but its lessons had left a lasting impression in more ways than one. In the cases of Cass and Jason, they almost knew what the ninja were going to do before the ninja did, and all had learned at the knee of Big Bad Daddy Bat. When thought about like that, and the Demon’s Head never bothered to, cause he was a dick that way, Ra’s ninja-yoroi attired henchmen (and women, their master was an equal opportunity immortal evil dickwad), never really stood a chance.

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It was a bizarre feeling, Eggsy accepted, almost like an itch. Itchy brain. He had itchy brain. Before whenever he’d heard anybody say that he’d given them an eye roll and told ‘em to sod off. Now, with these Everest pricks trying (and failing, thank you Merlin) to get into his head, he had to admit that’s exactly how it felt. Like an itch, a maddening, rage inducing, unreachable itch. The kind a person got in a spot they were unable to get to no matter how hard they tried. If the itch were anywhere else but in his head and circumstances were different, it would have Eggsy ripping off all his clothes and rolling around in the grass like a dog to get rid of it.

But the situation was what it was, and Eggsy’s only relief at the moment was the certainty that his quarry was more frustrated than he was. Casting a quick glance over his left shoulder he tapped his temple, exchanging a questioning look with Percival. The other man returned it with a brief nod. Yes, he felt it too, Everest’s repeated, increasingly desperate attempts to get into the Kingsman’s heads and the growing confusion the Council was feeling at not being able to make it happen. Eggsy smiled evilly. Bloody know we’re coming for you, don’t you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. He smiled wider. Knock, knock. Ready or not, here we come. Opposition so far had been very light, only a handful of Ra’s Al Ghul’s ninja encountered. Curious. The agents had no way of knowing it was because Ra’s ninja, of which there were about a hundred in total, had their hands full elsewhere. It was turning into a busy day for the men and women in black. Unfortunately, Everest, with the Demon’s Head distracted, had found a way to summon their own security personnel from not far away, where they had been forced to wait along with about a century more of Ra’s ninja army.

“You’re about to have company, Galahad. Quite a lot of it, actually” Merlin’s mission voice, all work, no play, came over the comm line. “Approximately three dozen warm bodies being vectored to your position. Their siccing the dogs on you, mates.” Ensconced in the Kingsman jet, parked safely on a hidden runway close to the estate, (Yes, Kingsman was in Canada too, somewhat with the cooperation of certain individuals within the Canadian government) Merlin was able to call on the combination of Kingsman, the JLA (bloody fantastic that, he had to find a way to keep the connection open after all this was done) and Batman’s (read Oracle and Red Robin, again bloody incredible, those two) specialized, highly advanced resources to live up to his Kingsman designation and pull off true wizardry. His namesake would be proud.

“Understood, Merlin” Lancelot acknowledged for the group. Bringing up the rear, she used BSL to flash a message to her companions. Eggsy, mission leader, consented back the same way. Grabbing a duffel of weapons and tech, Lancelot and Percival peeled off, preparing to counter the approaching threat, while Eggsy continued on. Up ahead, not too much further, according to Merlin and Oracle’s intelligence briefing, he’d find the Everest nest. The crooked, cocky grin he was known for returned. What happened when he found them was up to the so-called Council, but he knew they wouldn’t just sensibly give up. That sort never did, daft buggers. Behind him, he heard Lancelot and Percival begin to engage their pursuers. Two Kingsman against three dozen of the enemy. That sounded about right. Eggsy smiled his crooked smile. The rest of Everest was all his. Good.

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End of part 8


	9. Chicken Soup for the Bat Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let battle be joined. The beginning of the end is finally here. Ra's is such a pissy little b**ch, don't ya think?

**-Chapter 9 – Chicken Soup for the Bat Soul**

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_Timothy’s sobs resounded throughout the room, again drowning out, at least to Ra’s ears, the pleas, curses and tears of his siblings. “Please, Master” Tim implored, throat raw with emotion. He threw himself at Ra’s Al Ghul’s feet, stretching the last millimeters to place his lips on the toe of Ra’s right soft booted foot. “Please Master” Tim repeated desperately, “Please, I beg you, Master, please spare his life. Please don’t take him from us! Please, please, Please!”_

_The Demon’s Head’s eyes glowed with pleasure. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the heady perfume of victory over his ultimate enemy. Not only would he take Bruce Wayne’s life as payment for the fool’s rejection of Ra’s gift, but he would, at last, claim Wayne’s son, the only son of value, to sit on the Demon throne in the time of Ra’s choosing. This was far better than the sex of a million women. An orgasmic release indescribable! He waited until Timothy’s tear-streaked face met his own, waited to see the horrified realization upon the boy’s face, until his heir understood that all his frenzied entreaties were for naught, that all power was held in Ra’s, in his master’s hands to wield as Ra’s pleased._

_“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Tim screamed hoarsely, leaping forward in vain to try and stop what was happening._

_Ra’s Al Ghul bared his teeth in a savagely triumphant grin as his grip tightened, fatally crushing the Batman’s beating heart. Oh, but he had waited so long for this! To see the light fade from Bruce Wayne’s eyes as life left his body. To capture the moment of failure and defeat from a man who rarely encountered either. The Demon’s Head leaded forward. This was the moment of his greatest enemy’s death and Ra’s wanted a good close look-_

_Suddenly, an agonized gasp escaped Ra’s lips as the greatest pain he’d ever known ripped thru him. His prodigious brain registered shock but little else as his lungs stuttered, seized, trying to refuse any longer to perform their function and provide him with breath. Dimly, he noted that the pain radiated from his chest, centered around his **own** heart! With every ounce of will that remained Ra’s forced his eyes from Wayne’s dying body to find the source of the torment. What?! What was happening?! What was happening to him?! This was not-He did not, could not be seeing- Bruce Wayne, the Batman, his archenemy, his vanquished foe, was, impossibly, tearing Ra’s fingers away from his heart and rising to his feet, unharmed and whole, vengeance personified! Wayne rose until he towered strong and undamaged over the sinking Leader of the League, while Bruce’s hand had been sunken into Ra’s chest in reverse of Ra’s earlier action, seizing the black heart of the man who did not believe in death. Wayne’s other powerful hand closed around Ra’s throat, closing off an already nearly non-existent air supply. How?! How was this possible?!! How?!! No! No! Wayne was dead! Killed by his hand! It was not possible! Nooooo!!! _

_His shock grew. No! This could not be! It was not possible! It could not be! It was not, not, not possible! Ra’s eyes widened in disbelief as his mouth dropped open in a horrified soundless scream. No! No! Nooooooo!!! His body grew weaker and weaker, as he sank to his knees, the blackness around the edges of his vision beginning to close in, growing more and more-_

Secreted away in their quarters, Fraysson and Guayta struggled to hold the vision they had planted in Ra’s head. Al Ghuls’ was a dominant mind, the most potent they had ever attempted to control, but both metas knew they could not afford to fail. Losing their telepathic grip on the Demon’s Head now meant a death sentence for them, for all of Everest. There was no choice. Once begun, their aim must be seen thru to the end. Ra’s Al Ghul must die, and when he breathed his last his mind must be pushed past the point where any Lazarus Pit would be able to undo the damage. The Everest telepaths were not fools. They refused to take the slightest chance that the Demon would rise again one day to strike at them. Their cause was far too important to risk. They bore down, sweating and panting with the effort. If Al Ghul died in his mind, his body would soon follow.

Ra’s ninja crowded around his bed, eyeing his thrashing limbs and straining throat with growing terror. To wake their master might be the last thing they ever did, but if they did not, he seemed certain to die himself. What should they do?! Unthinking loyalty to the Demon’s Head had been, literally in many of their cases, beaten into them years ago. They did not know how to put their own lives ahead of his. Ra’s was above all, in all and thru all. His life must come before their own! Their master **MUST** be protected! He must live! His death was unthinkable! Finally, one worked up the nerve, stepping forward, hand outstretched. All power to the Head of the Demon!

“Master, master, awaken! You **MUST** awaken! You must!! Wake up, master! Wake up!!” The man frantically shook Ra’s, grabbing their leader by both shoulders, rocking the flailing Ra’s hard as he could in an effort to break the nightmare’s hold. “Awaken, Master!! Awaken! Open your eyes, Master!” he yelled, screaming into Ra’s Al Ghul’s face as loudly as he could, still shaking hard.

“Awaken, Master! Wake u-Uurrrgggh!” the ninja’s frenetic actions broke off abruptly as Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes bulged open and one strong hand flew up to seize the man by the throat, fingers tightening instinctively into a stranglehold. His unfortunate victim’s face began to turn a mottled purplish red as his body and brain were deprived of oxygen. The ninja attempted to speak, to plead for his life, but was unable. Air was necessary for words, and he had none. Half mad, still partially trapped by the vision of his death dream, Ra’s continued to squeeze, not seeing a ninja in his lethal grip, but his ultimate enemy, the Batman.

The ninja’s comrades did not interfere. They wanted to help him, but they wanted to live too. Seeing their buddy dying right before them at the hands of their insane master left them conflicted. This was a toughie. Did they help or not? What to do?! what to do?!

It ceased to matter when the ninja Ra’s was strangling in his maddened lashing out gave one final sickening gurgle and sagged to the floor as he died. The weight of his lifeless body pulled his throat out of Ra’s killing hold and that seemed to snap Ra’s completely awake. He slumped back onto the silken bed linens, wrung dry and still half in shock but starting to come around to full consciousness. Noting this, the remaining ninja surged forward. Now that it seemed less likely to result in them ending up like their brave but stupid friend, they were all too eager to help.

“Master, master, here, sit up, let us assist you!” they all competed to be the most helpful, fawning for all they were worth, plumping pillows and racing to provide glasses of water, desperate to demonstrate their allegiance.

Eric Fraysson and Valentina Guayta lay insensible, thrown back in the comfortable chairs of their suite, whimpering and groaning after having been so abruptly kicked out of Ra’s Al Ghul’s mind in the most painful way imaginable. Alison MacLeod and the only other Everest member left standing with her, George Olatunji, arrived to find the other two meta’s stunned and babbling gibberish. The takeover of a mind was always a gamble. Try it with someone like Ra’s, you better not miss, but that’s what they’d done. They’d blown it, and now he would be coming for them. And the Kingsman agents were closing in. Everything was collapsing into wild ruin. Everest must flee, regroup elsewhere, recover. Find some way to salvage whatever possible. Right now, they had to get away, escape. Those that stood against them were coming. They were all coming.

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Red Hood kicked a ninja in the face, probably harder than he should have but…nah, screw it. Like Replac-uh, Tim, liked to say, a person should enjoy what they do for a living and if kicking ninjas in the face wasn’t chicken soup for Jason’s soul, then he’d let Steph dye his helmet dayglo purple. Ah, Hood loved the sound of ninjas grunting in pain in the morning! And at noon, and at nighttime. Anytime really. Anyway, back to work. Ducking under another ninja’s dagger, (probably poisoned, he considered cynically) Jason aimed a rib cracking blow at his attacker, eliciting an agonized grunt. The man folded nearly in half. Flailing around blindly, clutching his mangled ribcage, instead of Jason the man accidentally speared one of his fellow ninja with the lethal blade, nailing his buddy center mass. Ninja number two wailed but didn’t have to suffer long. Eyes bulging as his heart sputtered to a stop, he fell to the stone floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth as he died. Red Hood observed clinically. Yep, poisoned.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Cass break another ninja’s leg, use the arm and upper body of broke leg ninja as leverage to propel herself elegantly, (how the hell does she _do_ that?) into yet another black pajama participant, knee that one in the nose, wrap her Kevlar clad thighs around the woman’s (equal opportunity, remember?) neck and twist savagely. Both of Black Bat’s targets dropped, stunned, probably not dead, but just wishing they were. Hood watched his sister roll off the body of thigh master ninja and into a third foolish assailant whom she kicked smack on the chin. What the hell was Ra’s putting in his Kool-aid that his people were willing to take this sort of abuse. I mean, damn! Jason thought, as he dispatched another of Al Ghul’s troops himself with a strike to the throat and yet one more with a bullet (rubber, ok? Sheesh!) to the kneecap before ramming the guy in the balls hard enough for every male in the vicinity to feel it. This was some kind of employee loyalty! Ra’s Al Ghul must be providing one **_HELL_** of a 401K. Roth IRA? Diversified stock portfolios? Bitchin’ dental? Something! 

He wheeled around to see Tim expertly deal with two ninjas at once using the punishing power of his steel bo. Having been on both the giving and receiving end of Red Robin’s bo staff, Jason winced, but only a little. These were Ra’s ninja. They had it coming. And they keep coming to get it, Jason grunted, putting another ninja down as his brother and sister did the same.

“Red!” Jason yelled. Instinctively, Tim dropped, allowing Jason to aim one of his modified 1911’s over his younger brother’s back at a katana wielding assailant moving in for the kill (rubber bullets again. If Jason thought about it too long, it made him sad). Stupid Bruce and his stupid rules. Not that Jason was sulking. (He WAS NOT! Shut up Roy!). As Hood took out Tim’s threat, his younger brother slid between his open legs to deliver a crippling double shot with his steel-toed boots to the shins of a ninja aiming for Jason’s unguarded back. The target of Tim’s successful defense fell back to strike his head on the stone wall of the chamber. His eyes rolling up, the ninja knocked his own self out cold. “Get those things into the pit!” Red Hood shouted to his sibling vigilante. “We’ll take care of the rest of this!” he finished, indicating more attacking ninja.

Tim nodded purposefully. Deliberately putting everything else out of his mind, (he had that much faith in Jason and Cass to handle any dangers), he unstrapped and opened the case and removed one of the vials of precious nanites, leaving five more backups. Tim and his contingency plans. Never leave home without ‘em. He approached the glowing, green, liquid abomination of the Lazarus Pit that should not have existed in this place but, knowing Ra’s, every one of the Bats had expected to find. Seeing this, the Demon’s Head’s militant followers intensified their efforts to stop him, only to run face first, (literally, bad for them) into an excruciating Black Bat/Red Hood buzzsaw of painful consequences. Ignoring the chaos around him, Tim stepped up to the bubbling, gurgling water, upending the contents into the pool and eyeing the results with satisfaction as he saw his nanites enter their new environment and begin to mutate, doing what they were created to do. He stepped back a couple of inches as the pit waters, normally an emerald shade, began to fade to a sickly neon green and roil even more than usual, spilling over the lip before subsiding. Eeeww! Tim thought. That looks like what came out of me the last time I threw up. Yuck! He gagged, then flung up an arm to shield his eyes, yelling a warning to Cass and Jason to do the same as the Lazarus Pit flared a brilliant white and then watched the waters become almost placid, still glowing faintly but no longer with the same malignant intensity of before. As Cass stuck a fork in the last ninja’s futile efforts, Red Robin exchanged a victorious look with his family. Done and done. Anybody trying to use this pit as a way to cheat the reaper would never live to regret it.

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Ra’s Al Ghul was livid. He hadn’t lived those 800 years of life in a hole in the ground. The more the fog of his near-death experience cleared and he realized what had happened, or, rather, what had _almost_ happened, the angrier he became. Those **_chelb_**! His mind seized upon the Arabic word for dog (for Ras’s Al Ghul, this was the highest insult. Ra’s hated dogs. He thought them to be foul creatures. Any dog unfortunate enough to encounter him seemed to hate him right back. Something about dogs being able to sense the true nature any humans they had contact with). Everest **dared** move against him, against Ra’s Al Ghul, against the **_Demon’s Head_** , in this manner?! They came at him like this?! He growled evilly **!** Try to take over his mind, would they? He’d show them! He’d show those **_hemar_** _why_ he was called the “head of the demon.” He’d already been planning to eliminate them anyway once he had no more use for them. They’d foolishly moved up the schedule, hastening their own deaths that much faster.

Untangling his legs from the twisted, sweat dampened bedsheets, Ra’s threw himself out of bed, agitated, but he’d miscalculated. He was hella angry, but still unsteady. Only the handsy intervention of his faithful ninja kept him from doing an embarrassing faceplant. Shaking off the multiple hands with a guttural curse, he glared, filled with a pit rage he almost never allowed to have free reign, daring any of them to comment. Since their mama’s didn’t raise no fools, no one did. Not them, nope, uh uh. They didn’t see nothin’! All eight ninja tried as hard as possible not to notice their master’s first halting steps and pale face as Ra’s stomped across the room, choosing to forego any kind of covering for his feet in favor of getting to his scimitar more quickly. In the space of seconds, Ra’s had figured it out. The Everest Council were telepaths, metas. Born graced with unnatural gifts. (The irony of Ra’s Al Ghul seeing others as having unnatural abilities was apparently totally lost on him.) Everest was hardly the first enemy to attempt such a thing. In his long life, he’d encountered others with the mental talents of telepathy and mind manipulation. Others who had tried to control his mind and actions. Of course, they had all ultimately been unsuccessful, but the difficulty was that until they manifested, until the telepath, or telepaths in this case, showed themselves openly, they were almost impossible to counter.

Everest had shown themselves, finally. Played their hand, overplayed it. They’d tried to play _him_ and failed. Now they would pay for that failure. Exponentially. He would burn their pitiful plans for world cleansing and domination to ashes, and them along with it. He’d been far too lenient with that arrogant idiot Ainsley. Well, no more Mister Nice Demon’s Head! No swift, painless end for the rest of them. By the time he was done with them, before he swept their heads from their bodies, one by one, they would cry out to an unfeeling universe for release from the agony he was about to bring upon them. He would have them tortured slowly and with great detail, watch them die and have them thrown into the pit and revived over and over again, and if they were able to sense one another’s anguish, so much the better. The Everest Council had begun this, but Ra’s would end it. He would end them all.

“Everest” he hissed in a wolvish growl. “They would move against **_me_**! They would try to take **_my_** mind?! I will dine on their hearts!” Ra’s swore, teeth bared in a soundless grimace.

He swept forward out of his suite, the desire for revenge coming off of him in waves and was stopped in his tracks. All thoughts of his retribution towards Everest went right out of his head in favor of more immediate concerns. In front of him, not fifty yards away, arrayed in battle formation, was the Demon’s Head’s greatest challenge, his chief enemy and main obstacle to achieving many of his goals. The Batman and two of his sons, Richard Grayson and Ra’s own ungrateful and terribly disappointing excuse for a grandson, Damian, who had forsaken the noble Al Ghul heritage to call himself a Wayne. It appeared the Leader of the League of Assassins was being presented with the opportunity to sweep all his enemies from his path in one fell swoop. Well, that was fine with him! His contingent of ninja at his back and more arriving by the second, he raised his jeweled scimitar overhead, yelled a hoarse war cry, and charged.

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When Dale Cooper was twelve, he was caught pinching money out of his classmate’s gym lockers. He got expelled. He also got off the school grounds barely ahead of a mob of angry former classmates. Come to think of it, Dale reflected absently as he ran, pushing Alison MacLeod and the rest of the Everest highbrow toffs ahead of him, that’s when he’d started running, and he hadn’t stopped since. First the army, then “private contracting” and now this, himself and a few of the rest of the Everest Council’s remaining bodyguards between their bosses and people who sought to administer what was probably a well- deserved arse kicking.

Dale tripped, fell, and groaned as he rolled over onto his back and stared right into Eggsy Unwin’s wolfish blue eyes. The last time Dale had seen those eyes, he’d been staring at them from the butt end of a gun he’d tried and failed to make a hit with before it was kicked out of his hand. Now they were eyeing him with predatory intent. He’d tried outrunning this particular trouble, but it kept finding him. He wasn’t gonna get the chance to hide and he had no shot since he’d already lost his gun. Don’t ask. He declined to discuss it. It was too humiliating. Dale’s day was sucking the hind tit. It got worse painfully fast. Key word here was painful. As Eggsy punched him in the throat and gave him a hard knee straight to his bullocks, Dale suddenly realized three things. Now he was encircled by those sharks, the water was full of chum and the whole time he’d been swimming in the wrong direction. Life sucked hairy dog balls!

Grabbing his adversary by a handful of dank brown hair, Unwin banged the former phony Det. Masterson’s head on the floor once for good measure, to make sure he didn’t wake up anytime soon (that was the only reason. There wasn’t not so much as a drop of vindictive satisfaction in it). That was Eggsy’s story and he was sticking to it. He pushed up from the floor, using the unconscious form of Cooper for a stepping stone as Percival and Lancelot came barreling down the corridor after him. Cooper grunted in blacked out pain as his gut absorbed Eggsy’s full 79 kilograms of weight for a second or so, (nothing but professionalism there either, Harry, really) but all three Kingsman missed it as they met up to continue the pursuit.

“All taken care of to the rear, mates?” Eggsy asked unnecessarily, flashing a cheeky grin to take the edge off.

Dixon Cleese, Percival, sniffed, loftily ignoring the question with British disdain. Lancelot eyeballed her fellow agent narrowly.

“Sod off, you. We know how to do our jobs!” she hissed in mock outrage.

Seeing as how that job had been to dispatch three dozen, actually a few more than that, of the Everest council’s highly trained security, and she and Percival had accomplished that job with flair and efficiency, she figured she had a right to be a little smug. She and her fellow Kingsman looked to be a tad banged up, but that was a lot more than could be said for the Everest crew they’d laid waste to. Some of those blokes were going to wake up in a great deal of pain. Some, the ones who’d put up more of a fight, weren’t going to wake up at all. Kingsman rules of engagement left little room for idiots, none for stupid.

“Let’s be off then, shall we luv?” Eggsy smirked with a wink. His fellow agents couldn’t actually see the smirk since all three were wearing protective masks along with clear goggles, but they knew it was there. This was Eggsy they were talking to.

Lancelot rolled her eyes and sighed as she ran alongside her companions. That pretty princess of his must be a saint. Percival responded with only a headshake. The Galahad’s were right cheeky buggers, every one of them. It seemed a prerequisite for the job.

Once upon a time, before Tilde and Kingsman, and Richmond Valentine and saving the world, Eggsy Unwin had been a better than fair student who enjoyed reading, a lot. Somewhere in that library of books he’d read something that had stayed with him. Something about how you could tell a lot about a society by the way it treats its prisoners. That wasn’t it exactly, but the thought had never really left him. If that were true, he reflected idly as he sprinted after the absconding MacLeod woman, easy to spot because of her white blond hair, then you could sure tell something about a person on the run by the way they ran. Eggsy should know. He’d had a fair number of successful getaways from the coppers before cashing in that chip Harry’d given his mum after Eggsy’s father had thrown himself on top of a live grenade.

Alison MacLeod chose to run in, of all things, what appeared to be an absolutely ridiculous pair of four- inch stiletto heels, no doubt designer and hideously expensive. Incredible. Fantastically, stupendously, marvelously u n b e l i e v e a b l e! Who flees the consequences of their evil world altering plot falling apart in thousand euro heels? Barmy twit. Still MacLeod and her gang of three, Eggsy could see a woman and two men with her, had managed to stay, using the fight with the Everest bodyguards as cover, just ahead of their pursuit. The blond meta, bringing up the rear of her group, disappeared for the space of a few seconds as a corner was turned. Eggsy heard a door slam and the sound of it being bolted. He sneered behind his mask. Did she really expect that to protect her? Wrong. So, so wrong. Not today. With a Kingsman, not ever. 

Unlike her co-conspirator, Valentina Guayta was formed in the pueblos jovenes of Lima. No heels for her, she ran barefoot ahead of the blond woman, crashing into the back of Eric Fraysson, who staggered and turned, spewing bile and partially digested coffee all over Valentina. It happened too suddenly for her to get out of the way, she caught the stream of vomit full in the face, gasping in revulsion and falling to her knees, eyes stung by Fraysson’s stomach contents. The smell of upchuck mixed with the room’s other unpleasant odors. 

“Get up! Help us!” George Olatunji bellowed, totally unsympathetic. The mahogany skinned African representative of Everest staggered over to the reason he and the rest of the Council had fled in this direction trying to get away from the coursing Kingsman. Literally chained to their beds like a pair of rabid animals, which wasn’t too far off the mark actually, Cyril Coughlin and Aiman bin Mamat fought their restraints like vicious dogs on the ends of catch poles. Growling and spitting with Lazarus Pit generated craziness, they were both filthy. Ra’s ninja had barely kept them fed since each one’s dip in the pool, leaving food and water just within reach, but none of the ninja volunteered to keep the raving prisoners clean. Nope, uh uh, not in their job description. The ninja’s figured they might have to feed this pair of their master’s enemies enough to keep them alive, but **nobody** was willing to step up for hose duty. For all the ninja cared, these two could stink. They just stayed outside, kept the door locked and ignored the pretty much continuous screaming.

“Get them under control! Now!” Olatunji yelled, directing his comment to Guayta and Fraysson, meaning they should use their mind control abilities to blast thru the insanity cloaking the pair of pit victims.

“We’ve tried this!” Fraysson bellowed back, “We cannot reach them! They’re too far gone! Their sanity is hidden too deep! Behind too many layers!” he shrieked, nearly mad himself with frustration.

“Try anyway, we have no choice, we need them!” MacLeod brayed. Kingsman was getting closer. This door wouldn’t keep them out for long. The ninja that had been guarding it had vanished. The Council’s meta genes were the only things between them and punishment for their crimes, but it would take all of them.

Dragging the revolted Guayta up by her elbows, Fraysson gripped his fellow Everest member’s hands tightly. As exhausted as they were from their disastrous attempt on Ra’s Al Ghul, the pair was forced to summon every ounce of control they had left for this effort. They closed their eyes and threw everything into it. They might as well. Short of their lives, they had nothing left to lose.

Galahad, Lancelot, and Percival reached the thick door. It was protected by a complicated security system that Eggsy uncomplicated with one word. “Merlin”. Beep, simplicity itself. There was still the physical door, steel covered in oak, a solid barrier.

“Not a problem, stand back lads” Jean McCallum, Lancelot, pronounced. Reaching into the Kingsman’s duffel bag of tricks, she came up a package filled with a grey colored substance the consistency of clay. Pinching off a couple of small blocks of the stuff, she pressed them firmly against the door at the approximate placement of hinges on the other side. With her gloved hands, she used the rest of the package up by pressing it along the edges of the door like caulk, then squeezed the end containing the detonator switch between her thumb and forefinger to activate it. The three agents moved back a ways as the material began to spark, traveling around the door frame at blinding speed, flaring with extra explosive force at the hinge points. Three seconds later, the massive door, with nothing left to hold it in place, fell backward into the room with an unholy clang.

Eggsy flung his body thru the door, his training, instincts, and experience landing him on his belly with his gun ready to fire. Good thing too, since a couple of shots from George Olatunji’s gun carved chips from the stucco wall above the operative’s head, missing him by only a couple of centimeters. Responding in kind, Eggsy placed his shot squarely between the Benin native’s eyes. Kingsman rules. You play, you pay.

Alison MacLeod had been frantically tearing the room apart searching for the keys to unlock her raging Everest compatriots. There! She found it, and without regard for the consequences, darted over to unlock them. Problem was, they were still out of their minds from the pit. Neither had any damn clue who she was, they only saw an enemy, a threat, something to be feared and therefore, eliminated. Stupidly, MacLeod freed Cyril Coughlin, paying no attention to the killer gleam in his eyes. It worked out badly for her. With his hands free, the raging three- hundred- and -fifty- pound Coughlin grabbed the petite woman with both hands and shook her like an angry grizzly, instantly snapping her neck and killing her. Flinging her limp body away like trash, he stalked forward, ready for more mayhem, roaming like a fleshy, smelly heat seeking missile, honing in on the nearest warm body, which, of it would be because, why not, eh, happened to be Percival. The Kingsman knight leapt and kicked the fat man hard in the sternum with both feet. Off balance, Coughlin stumbled backward, howling like a wounded cape buffalo. His considerable bulk fetched against one of the huge stained glass windows at the far end of the room. Never intended for the purpose of sustaining that much weight and momentum, it didn’t. The mostly decorative window gave way and the crazed Coughlin crashed thru. The nearly non-existent balcony and flimsy railing did nothing to slow him down. It took the jagged, tree covered rocks seventy-five feet below to break his fall. That left three Everest members to contend with.

Bin Mamat still strained against his chains, but with one less mind to contend with, Fraysson and Guayta found it easier to control him. Finally getting a leash around his raging brain, Guayta pried the keys to his shackles from Alison MacLeod dead fingers, freed him and flung him at Lancelot like a club. The female Kingsman quickly dropped, placing her weight on the palms of her hands, using a leg sweep to take the insane man’s own legs right out from under him. She took him out of the fight completely with a savage hit to the sternum and two palm strikes, one to the nose the other to his temple. That did for him.

Joined at the brain, Fraysson and Guayta’s had their mental grips snapped like broken rubber bands. So soon after the debacle with Ra’s Al Ghul, their bodies simply couldn’t take the strain. They both collapsed, doing a great imitation of a couple of suddenly abandoned puppets. Eyes clouding, life leaving in dibs and dabs, the Everest Council’s grand scheme died with them, blood dribbling from their noses and mouths as their overtaxed gray matter slowly hemorrhaged.

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“Detective!” Ra’s Al Ghul snarled, aiming his ancient curved sword in a deadly arch for Bruce’s head. Ninja swarmed around the two principals to attack Robin and Nightwing as Batman met the challenge, ducking under the blade, pivoting on his left leg and jabbing Ra’s brutally in the kidney with a gauntleted fist. The assassin leader grunted in agony but rolled with the punch, sword still in hand. Teeth bared in soundless fury, Ra’s snapped his left wrist and produced a sinister looking dagger in his left hand. Left, right, left, right, dagger, sword, dagger, sword. Using razor sharp blades, knees, head, Ra’s feinted, jabbed, went high, then low, trying to discover the weak spot in his hated enemy’s defenses. The chink in the Dark Knight’s armor that the Demon’s Head could slip thru and annihilate Wayne once and for all.

He didn’t find it. As well as Al Ghul thought he knew Batman, Batman knew him. Bruce had been learning of Ra’s Al Ghul since their first meeting as master and student two decades before. Twenty years of dealing with Ra’s various schemes, plots and plans had kept Bruce’s skills wide awake. He saw the other man’s moves coming, turned them aside, moved with the enraged madman trying so hard to kill him, was able to use Ra’s unusually off-kilter actions and reactions against him. Ra’s was still rebuilding mental and emotional walls following the Everest mind assault, but that was something Bruce Wayne would never know. Bruce attacked in kind, subjecting the arrogant Ra’s to a barrage of blows and kicks from which he held nothing back.

Batman was wearing the same modified armor he’d had on during his and Cass’s trip to London. Moving and weaving, avoiding Ra’s Al Ghul’s murderous attempts with the ease of long practice, Bruce spared half a second to concede leaving the cape behind turned out to be for the best. Don’t get him wrong, he loved that cape. They didn’t call him the Caped Crusader for nothing, but sometimes, as much as it could be his ally in a battle, in close quarters such as these, with such a crush of bodies, it could be a bit of a liability. Enough, he decided. Time to sit Ra’s down so he could take his family home. He moved in tight for a final exchange.

While Bruce was dealing with their boss, Nightwing and Robin took on the ninja chorus. Ra’s troops flung themselves into the fight with what seemed to Dick to be an uncalled for amount of enthusiasm. These guys really loved their work, Nightwing huffed, fending off one ninja with a nerve strike to the ribs and another with a hard palm to the nose, and yet a third with a groin shot, slipped between the man’s leg’s, _climbed_ the man like a tree, and gave him an elbow to the base of the skull. From the corner of his eye, he checked on Damian, but his little brother was doing just fine, thank you.

Using Nightwing’s back as a springboard, Robin vaulted off his brother to plant both booted feet in the face of an attacking ninja and using the tusuka of his katana as he had in the fight at the Gotham docks, gave another a shot in the mouth, spraying blood and teeth in all directions. Both his victims were done but there was no shortage of volunteers to take their place. Damian grinned ferociously. Good. He’d been birthed and spent the first years of his life among many of these very same ninja, most of whom, at the whim of his mother and grandfather, made those years a living hell. He’d say payback was a bitch, but Damian loved dogs. Comparing his grandfather’s assassins to the noble animals was a disservice to females of the canine persuasion. His feral smile grew colder as he kneecapped a fellow he recognized from his early training. This was proving to be shamefully enjoyable. Perhaps the Hood was, as Grayson was prone to say, rubbing off on him. He frowned at the thought. There were more enemies, lots more, but it was not an issue for Damian. He kneecapped another ninja and hamstrung a fourth with a swipe of his katana’s blade. Never mind, he shrugged. He was Batman’s true partner and, far be it from Damian to take Drake’s advice to heart, but he decided that, perhaps, occasionally, it might be acceptable to derive a modicum of enjoyment from one’s calling. He jumped on another ninja. Ok, so he was having fun. Sue him. 

A rush of footsteps behind him announced the arrival of fresh backup for Ra’s Al Ghul. More ninja, Nightwing realized. Yay. Well, this was swell, just swell. He, Robin and Batman now had themselves a two- front war. Ninja’s pouring out of the walls, floors, and doors! Zipadee do da day! Dumb Ra’s and his dumb ninja’s. Dick was beginning to get a little steamed about it all. It took a lot to piss off the normally sunny Dick Grayson, but, if that’s the way they wanted it… ** _FINE_**. Nightwing let his temper off-leash. They asked for it. He waded into them, a black and blue cyclone dishing out broken bones and concussions. He felt rather than saw his youngest brother appear at his side, arms, legs and katana flashing, in front and behind, providing cover for both Nightwing and the Batman. Bruce and Ra’s continued their martial exchange, neither able to gain a solid advantage, neither willing to give way. Between the three of them, the Bats were more than holding their own, but Ra’s Al Ghul’s army of warrior executioner’s just kept regenerating like dragon’s teeth. Put one down, another sprang up in his place. Did Ra’s bring every ninja he has, Dick wondered. Cause it was sure beginning to look that way, he thought as he punched another one senseless and jump kicked two more in the face.

**_BANG!_** Just like that, everything changed in a, well, flash. Charging up from the rear of the wall of aggressing ninja, the Kingsman knights appeared, falling on Ra’s black clad fighters like their roundtable namesakes. Now it was the ninja who had two fronts to worry about. Glad to finally be able to repay the safe house rescue, Galahad, Lancelot and Percival went full on Kingsman all over the Demon Head’s ninjas. It was a thing of beauty, Nightwing idly observed as he rendered another ninja unconscious. Unlike the ninjas, watching his new allies bring this much passion and zeal to their work filled him with hope for the future of mankind.

With Kingsman in the mix, things began to go very right for the Bats and very wrong for Ra’s Al Ghul. His fount of protective ninja started to run dry, lessening from a flow to a trickle, then to barely a drip. Added to that was Batman’s relentless personal onslaught. Dagger and sword not withstanding the Batman was winning. Driven to his knees, Ra’s felt the unavoidable settle across his shoulders. Very well. He accepted it as an armored knee whistled past his ear. If 800 years of life and death were good for anything, he’d learned the value of a strategic retreat. He always wanted to win, but sometimes it was better to run away. It left a bitter taste, but he’d get over it. He knew that. The Lazarus Pits insured it. So be it. Time to extract himself from this disaster and begin again.

Ra’s turned his head slightly, sending a pre-arranged signal to one of the ninja at his back. He bit back a startled gasp. So few of them remained! The Everest Council! This **_al-fawdi_** was their fault! And his own. He should have simply had them killed after their failed attempts to abduct Timothy. Instead, his “alliance” with the inept fools threatened to become his undoing. That, and taking his eyes off Batman. Too slow, Ra’s whipped his head around. Bruce nailed him. Hard. Eyes rolling back in his head, Ra’s Al Ghul collapsed, stunned.

“Master!” the closest ninja screeched like a teenager in a horror movie. In a spectacular display of team stupidity (or possibly a latent shared death wish) that ninja and three other of Ra’s force bravely threw their crushable selves between their leader and the angry mass of muscle and Kevlar known as the Batman. At that exact moment back in Gotham several of Arkham’s villains cringed and winced in their cells but had no idea why.

The Demon’s Head’s followers might have chosen to give their loyalty to a genocidal psychopath, but they were well trained and their coordinated attack was just enough to give several others of their companions a chance to seize Ra’s limp body and carry him to safety. Batman could only watch. Growling with frustration, Bruce was forced to drop his attack on Ra’s to deal with the octopus of flying arms and legs coming at him. The whirlwind of limbs obscured his view of his main foe. By the time the way was cleared, Ra’s was gone. Bruce punched a final ninja extra hard just for that.

“Nightwing!” he barked.

“I saw ‘em, Batman!” his son returned while doing away with his last opponent. All around him, Robin and their Kingsman friends were doing the same. The long narrow passageway was littered with the tangled bodies of Ra’s Al Ghul’s killers, some alive, some not so much, Dick saw. He was as much against killing as Batman and always sought to make his combat non-lethal, but knew it couldn’t always be avoided, especially when who you were fighting had no problem with doing it to you, so… At any rate, he shrugged, there was no one left now to keep them from going after the assassin leader and finishing this.

“Old Man!” Jason’s voice yelled in Bruce’s ear, “You might want to get down here, we got company!” A shot, most likely from one of the Red Hood’s .45’s punctuated the statement.

Down here, Bruce knew, was the Lazarus Pit the Batjet’s detection equipment had picked up and Red Robin, Black Bat and Hood had been sent to render useless by way of Tim’s nanites. 

“On our way!” He assured his second child.

“That’s where they’ve taken grandfather!” Damian had picked up the transmission on his comm also. Batman nodded briskly and started for the underground chamber, stepping on the bodies of downed ninjas, as did Nightwing, Robin and the Kingsman. They kind of had to, Dick reflected, not really all that sorry about it. They were sort of everywhere. It was much easier going, Nightwing concluded, his upbeat nature reasserting itself, once they were past the human flooring. He ran smoothly at his father’s side. He wanted to be done so they could go home and have a movie night. All things considered Dick was ready to let his Disney princess freak flag fly!

As the combined Bat/Kingsman team pounded thru the compromised fortress estate, Bruce felt a surge of justifiable pride in his children. Right from the beginning, although he’d truly never meant to, he’d raised a family of warriors. Knights to rival anything Kingsman or anyone could put in the field. For reasons of their own, each had voluntarily joined him in his crusade. There had been missteps along the way, misunderstandings. Far too much pain. Far too much of it his fault, especially with Jason and Tim. Hurt, anger, injuries…death. But they either continued at his side or eventually returned to it. He frequently didn’t deserve them, as Alfred was wont to point out, but he was indescribably grateful. A rare moment of reflection for him, and over all to soon. They were here.

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A/N: **I was going to just type one long, and I mean massive chapter, but decided to split it. See you in Chapter 10 if you are still along for the ride!**


	10. BAM! ZONK!ZOWEE!POW!...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the end is here, in which some people discover you might not get want you want, but, sometimes, you get what you deserve.

**Chapter 10- BAM! ZONK! ZOWEE! POW!.... ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ**

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Aiman bin Mamat woke disoriented, with pit madness screaming in the back of his mind, but for the first time in days, it stayed there. A dim, undamaged part of his memory regurgitated up the image of confronting Ra’s Al Ghul by the rim of the newly constructed Lazarus Pit. It’s creation both fascinated and terrified Aiman and the other members of the Everest Council. How? How had Al Ghul managed this right under their noses? And why? Why had he done it? Why did the Demon’s Head order the creation of the very thing he knew the Council craved almost above all else in a place Everest considered a stronghold? He found out, the hard way. His mind and eyes had barely had time to register the shock of the eviscerated Cyril Coughlin being tossed into the pit, intestines spilling out thru the jagged slit in the man’s massive gut before realizing he was next. He’d…died! He’d died, been murdered at Ra’s Al Ghul’s command, but now he was alive again! His hands flew to his throat. He remembered choking on his own blood after having his throat cut and falling forward into the pit, feeling his mental connection to the other Everest members severed and the shock of being alone in his own mind after so many years, then nothing.

He took in the room. The ashen, dead, bloody faces of Fryasson and Guayta , the body of George Olatunji, a telling hole precisely placed in the middle of his forehead. The destroyed room, the ruined window. He tried to stand but his shaky legs refused to hold him up, so he crawled on all fours like a baby to where the window had been and looked out. Cyril Coughlin’s broken body lay twisted up atop the barbed, unforgiving rocks. Bin Mamat checked. Mentally, he could feel none of the others! They were all gone! All! There was only him now. He was alone. Twenty years! Twenty years of planning, scheming and manipulation of people, world events, governments, all for nothing. There was no way finish the plan on his own, no way he could make it all happen by himself! He was alone! He was alo- That realization snapped him out of the self-pitying funk threatening to drown him. He **_was_** alone! The others were all dead. He couldn’t feel them at all. Besides the Council’s plans getting blown apart, the fact he was the only one left alive meant one other critically important thing.

_“The estate doesn’t actually have a name. There’s a brass plate mounted by the main gates with the number nineteen on it. it’s the closest thing to identification that particular piece of land has ever had, so it’s known as ‘Nineteen.’ Sounds melodramatic, I know, but it’s really not. The place has got security on par with a seat of government. I’m talking electronics, drone technology, you name it. And hardened everything, including a fallout shelter that could easily be transitioned into the aforementioned seat of government.”_

Bruce Wayne planned to never tell anybody, well maybe his kids, someday, how he’d known about the Nineteen compound and its security features. That was between him and his intelligence network, thanks very much. Besides, being raised by a former MI6 agent had taught him that he didn’t _have_ to tell everybody everything. He could just keep some things to himself. It threw people off when Batman knew stuff, but no one could figure out **how** he knew it. Even the other members of the JLA, Superman included (Ha! Take that Mr. Hot Shot Investigative Reporter) tended to step light around the mysterious, seemingly all-knowing Protector of Gotham when that happened. Ok, so it was a little childish, but it made Bruce smile to think about it. A very tiny smile, when no one was looking.

There was something he _didn’t_ know, but that was because the seven telepaths of Everest had kept this little tidbit to themselves. Nineteen had a dead man’s switch, branching off seven different directions, each connected remotely to a chip in the brain of each of the seven different members of the Council. It had wobbled faintly when Michael Ainsley literally lost his head courtesy of Ra’s Al Ghul, but swiftly settled down to its new normal of six living connections. The, temporary, for the moment, as it turned out, deaths of Bin Mamat himself and Cyril Coughlin had woke it up, but their being brought back by the Lazarus Pit pacified it. Now, the other six were dead. Nineteen’s existence teetered on the edge of the proverbial cliff and he was the only one who knew it. He dazedly surveyed the corpses of the other three again, then, still unable to stand, began a slow, groggy, nauseous crawl to the blown- out doorway of the room. He had to get out of here. He had to get away, to survive. That was all that mattered now, getting out, getting clear of Nineteen. He must leave this place! He tried to make it out of the room but couldn’t. Slowly, his foggy brain put together that there was something in his way. He looked up.

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Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Tim told his brain. You just had to go and think up those stupid nanites huh. Let’s piss in his Kool-Aid with poison nanites you said. Yeah, yeah, that’s a great idea, you said. And now, here we are, AGAIN. Uuugggghhh!

Shut up, his brain fired back. Your _mind_ came up with the idea of those nanites. I’m just the squishy stuff along for the ride. Don’t blame me cause you didn’t have the balls to stand up to yourself! And pay attention! The old gasbag is awake and blowing hard, so heads up!

Crud, his brain was right. Backed by a couple dozen hyped up ninja, four of whom had carried his limp ass in face down, Ra’s Al Ghul was wide awake and running off at the mouth. His natural state, Tim suspected. The man loved sound of his own voice. Yak, yak, yak. 800 years. Different day, same crap! Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Jeez!

“Ah, hello-“

If he calls me “Detective” Tim swore, I may just scream like Sweet Polly Purebred. (Tim liked to sneak down to the cave and watch really old cartoons on the Batcomputer’s monitor. The giant screen was **_HD_** and those digitally remastered ‘toons were the love!)

“-Detective!”

**EEEEWWWWWW, AAAUUUGGHH**! Tim may have thrown up in his mouth a little right then.

\- Ra’s finished, accompanied by the usual greasy smile. “How nice to see you again! Particularly in light of the perilous time in which we find ourselves living! Allow me to say your presence here is especially…appealing, on a number of levels!”

“That’s just nasty!” Jason interrupted. “You’re right, Timbo. He _is_ slimy. Blech!” he gagged, taking aim at the Demon’s Head with one 1911 and covering as many ninjas as he could with the other.

Cass was silent, moving to block Tim from Ra’s line of sight with her body, eyes narrowed to a flinty dare. More ninja poured in behind their comrades. What, did Ra’s troops have rabbit DNA or what? They multiplied fast enough.

“Ra’s, you are _such_ a drama queen” Tim sneered, so done with the whole scene. 

Judging by the reaction of the ninjas, Ra’s reply, snarled in Arabic, must have been something along the lines of “well, what are you waiting for? Go get him!” because in the next second, the three Bats were chin deep in them.

Tim only had time to make out Jason’s SOS to Bruce and the report of a .45 before they were on him. Muscle memory took over then everybody was Kalaripayattu, BJJ, Taekwondo, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, Kung Fu fiiiiggghhhttinng! Those kicks were fast as lightning, but they weren’t even a little bit frightening ‘cause the bat clan fought with expert timing, Tim’s bo flashed, Jason alternated incapacitating shots with bone breaking body blows, and Cass was…well, Cass. If the continuously arriving ninja weren’t so busy getting their collective asses handed to them, they might have been impressed.

The failure of Ra’s Al Ghul’s minions to accomplish their appointed task was annoying their boss, so told by the increasingly shrill tone of the man’s shouted directives. No matter how many ninja he threw at them, physical possession of his heir remained just beyond his grasp. It was clearly driving him bonkers, especially since Ra’s was more than aware that the Batman was about to come crashing to his son’s aid, backed by Nightwing and that prattling whelp of a grandson, and probably also the Demon’s Head’s new enemies, Kingsman. Bah! The ninja redoubled their efforts. Every one of them knew how their master could be when denied what he wanted. Whoever said “a coward dies a thousand deaths, but the valiant taste of death but once…” never worked for Ra’s Al Ghul. (Jason could have told them it was William Shakespeare, but nobody asked him).

The frayed rope that was his patience finally snapped and with an unhinged roar, the assassin leader waded into the battle, determined to take the boy himself. His ninja flunkeys desperately attempted to clear a path for their enraged chieftain, but the Red Hood and the… ** _bat-witch_** who seemed to fight as three proved a formidable roadblock.

Behind the wall of his brother and sister’s hellish defense, Red Robin was also bringing the pain with flicks and twists of his bo to any ninja foolish enough to attempt to get behind and surround him and his family. Tim whipped the weapon around to crack an unfortunate attacker across the nose and cheekbone and then spun blink fast to jab another smack in the middle of his forehead. That was definitely going to leave a mark. The recipient’s eyes rolled back his head as he checked out of the conscious world for the foreseeable future.

“ **RA’S!”** Bruce Wayne added a roar of his own to the cacophony of sound that was the pit chamber. All combat momentarily ceased as the Dark Knight’s bulk filled the doorway. A pissed off Batman was enough to turn the toughest ninja’s s**t to water. As one, the ninja looked to their master for their cue. Your call, boss man. What now?

Ra’s bared his perfect teeth in frustration, strangling on the bitter pill of his disappointment. His window to seize Timothy Drake had closed, for now. No matter, he told himself. Next time. Thanks be to the Lazarus Pits, there was always a next time for him.

“Sa’arhil maneih min mutabaeati!” (I am leaving, stop him from following me!) Ra’s roared hoarsely. He turned to **_strategically retreat,_** (do not call it fleeing, Ra’s Al Ghul _never_ flees, do not insult him!), and promptly faceplanted smack onto the cooling corpse of Alison MacLeod, dumped at his feet by the latest of his ninja to make the scene. Now, while he’s created a slew of dead people in his day, ending up in the missionary position with one was a jarring experience for him.

“AAHHHH! What the hell have you done!?” he shrieked, enraged, scuttling like a crab to clear the woman’s body with his 800- year- old heart in his throat. In his haste, (not desperation, never that) his clothing became snagged on some of the pricey designer jewelry the foolish trollop always insisted on wearing to flaunt her wealth and status. He was hung up, he couldn’t get loose! He swore, frantically tore himself free and scrambled away, shredding his fancy silk trousers in the process.

“Master, she owes you fealty! We have brought her to you so that you may exact your justice upon her! The Pit… you can revive her so that she answers for her failures!” babbled the ninja who’d lugged the dead Everest member into his master’s presence.

Ra’s swore silently in several languages. It was so hard to get good help these days but fixing the problem would have to wait. He _must_ be gone from this accursed place! NOW!

“Leave the useless whore! Let her corpse be a lesson to those who would defy me!” he commanded, throwing an acid glare at Batman. If looks really could kill, Bruce would have dissolved into goo. Instead Batman smiled coldly as Ra’s Al Ghul and his ninja’s retreat was compromised by the arrival of the trio of Kingsman knights coming up from behind. The Demon’s Head swore once more, incandescent with rage. He could fight his way free, but by the time he had, the Batman would be upon him. He straightened. So be it, he decided, facing his most hated enemy. The assassin leader raised his favored scimitar, the familiar feel of it in his hand firing his synapses and drew a breath to bellow the command to resume the attack.

“No joy there anyway Ra’s!” Red Robin interrupted the loaded moment. Red waggled the empty vial in the air. “We peed in your pool” he grinned. “It doesn’t work anymore. You can dunk tank all the dead people you want, they’re just gonna stay dead!” he announced, watching the color drain from the immortal’s face at the words.

“IMPOSSIBLE! Liar!” Al Ghul spat, refusing to succumb to the obviously false tactic. “I shall break you of your fondness for deception before you are officially taken as my heir!” he vowed threateningly, training his poisonous glare on Tim.

Tim flipped him off. Jason snickered.

Without warning a ninja stepped forward and kicked Alison MacLeod’s body into the defunct Lazarus pit. He’d just hauled her literal dead weight all over hell’s half acre so his master could have the pleasure of bringing her back to life and then discipling her. Violently punishing disrespect or failure always seemed to put the Demon’s Head in a good mood, so this should work, right? Get his boss’s head in a better space, yeah? This should work, this should do it. Fix it so when they finally got out of this mess and back to their home base, divorcing Cliff’s (that was his name, Cliff, Clifford his mum always called him), oh, mum, I wish you were here now, head from his body wouldn’t be item one on Ra’s to do list. Besides, a crazy assed, green eyed foaming at the mouth blond hellion might by just the thing to tip the scales. Whatever worked, right?

Several breathless seconds passed before the dead telepath’s body bobbed to the top of the tepid, stank waters, floating across the surface like a zombie on holiday. For a few more seconds nothing happened but a lot of staring, the league and their leader stunned, the Bats vindicated, (and ok, Tim could admit, just this once to a little bit of smug). Red smirked at his evil ancient old pervert stalker. An audible collective murmur rose among the assembled ninja. Suddenly being one of Ra’s Al Ghul’s followers seemed a lot less attractive. Recruitment was going to take one hell of a hit. That get out of death free card was one of their top draws at the villain job fair (a dark web annual event, well attended, they served cookies).

“Told ya” Tim smirked. “Oh, and one more thing” Red continued. “We’re coming for the rest of your Satan’s piss jacuzzi’s too! We know where most of ‘em are, and we know how to track down the rest. Tic toc, dude. Your egg timer just started again.” Tim grinned broadly. The look on the pseudo immortal’s face! So satisfying. He wasn’t exaggerating either. En route to Nineteen, Bruce put Tim, Jason, Cass and Damian to work mapping the location of just about all Ra’s Lazarus Pits. They might have missed one or two, but between the four of them with some input from their father, he figured his family knew those pits better than Ra’s. He wasn’t far wrong. Not far wrong at all. Add to that theoretical tech Tim and Merlin were working on that could help them sniff out any newly created ones and they were golden.

Ra’s lost his mind. “Aaauuuuhhh!” screeching in a register his voice had not reached since well before his first immersion in the original Lazarus Pit, Al Ghul hefted the huge blade, intent on reaching the impudently grinning boy. Gone for the moment were his plans for Tim Drake’s future as his heir. If the idiot child would not be co-opted, he would be destroyed!

Tim and his family braced, looking distinctly undisturbed at the assassin leader’s imminent attack. They readied themselves to receive the headlong crash as Ra’s and his ninja forces flowed toward them, some turning to engage the Kingsman agents to their rear.

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_The, temporary, for the moment, as it turned out, deaths of Bin Mamat himself and Cyril Coughlin had woke it up, but their being brought back by the Lazarus Pit pacified it. Now, the other six were dead. Nineteen’s existence teetered on the edge of the proverbial cliff and he was the only one who knew it. He dazedly surveyed the corpses of the other three again, then, still unable to stand, began a slow, groggy, nauseous crawl to the blown- out doorway of the room. He had to get out of here. He had to get away, to survive. That was all that mattered now, getting out, getting clear of Nineteen. He must leave this place! He tried to make it out of the room but couldn’t. Slowly, his foggy brain put together that there was something in his way. He looked up._

Swimming thru the verdant rage and confusion was just the one thought. Get out! He had to get out, to get away from this place, to find a place to hide from his enemies, to rebuild, to salvage what pitiful scraps remained of Everest’s dreams. It was all on him now, but first he had to get out! Out! Out! He batted at the obstacle feebly, furious, growling at it like a dog. There was something in his way! What was preventing him from leaving?! What was this barrier suddenly between him and freedom? Aiman bin Mamat forced his head, which felt as if it weighed by itself as much as the rest of his entire body altogether up to confront the obstacle.

His eyes traveled up from the jika tabi shoe, up the black garbed leg and body to rest finally on the cold eye glare of one of Ra’s Al Ghul’s ninja. The man had been knocked out during the fight with Kingsman and had woken up in time to see the last of his Masters’ enemies attempting to slither away unnoticed. Ra’s minion recognized this man as one of those his Master had decided should be terminated. The ninja smiled frostily beneath the balaclava. As the Demon’s Head decreed, so it shall be done. He raised his katana for the killing strike.

The razor sharp death coming for Aiman bin Mamat plunged straight thru the hand he’d flung up in a futile attempt to halt it and followed its deadly intended path, bisecting his heart. The final surviving member of the Everest Council gasped in agony, eyes bulging nearly from his head with shock and pain. His head banged on the finished stone flooring one time, as, unable to draw breath, his lungs seizing, the last of Everest died with his disbelief frozen on his face.

Unseen by any human eyes, the only remaining failsafe of Nineteen’s existence winked out. The compound ‘s computer system fulfilled its programming with machine impartially and began the systematic process of destruction.

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**CRACK!! WHAM! CRUNCH!** Red Robin’s bo staff whirred thru the air around him, dishing out incapacitating injuries with brutal efficiency. Maybe he was having a little too much fun with his game of whack-a-ninja but hey, they started it so… JAM!! A hella thrust into the gut of his latest attacker. The man stopped, eyes bulging, and wrapped both arms around his abused mid- section, not skipping breakfast that morning unexpectedly now among the many life choices he was regretting.

Uh oh. Red recognized the look of somebody about to blow. He jumped back as far out of the way as he could as the ninja projectile vomited up his morning meal. He nailed one of his unfortunate pals rushing up from behind the young Bat, but his newly baptized buddy didn’t have time to regret it as Tim’s bo smacked her **_hard_** upside her head. Ninja one dropped to his hands and knees whimpering. Ninja two just dropped. Tim found a new opponent, checking in the split second he had free to see that his family and Eggsy and his two Kingsman comrades were more than holding their own. Ra’s ninja’s were having a truly suckworthy day. It was so beautiful Tim made a mental note to appreciate it later, when he had the time.

As for Ra’s Al Ghul his own self, right about now the Demon’s Head was probably thinking he should have gotten while the getting was good cause it was too late now. Way too late. As far as Red could tell, Batman was in the process of personally administering the kind of ass whoopin’ on Ra’s that embodied literally years of pent up pissed off. Throw in Bruce’s disgust at Ra’s perverse interest in suborning Tim as Ra’s heir, and, well, it looked like his father was all in. See Ra’s getting his clock so thoroughly cleaned, it brought a tear to Tim’s eye. It did. It was glorious.

_Nineteen was dying._

**_“SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED. COMPOUND WILL DESTUCT IN FIVE MINUTES”._** The passionless computerized voice rudely interrupted any and all hostilities, freezing the combatants in place.

“What the hell?” NIghtwing yelled. “NOW WHAT?” he demanded of no one in particular, whirling in confusion away from the ninjas (plural) he was in the process of beating down.

A deep rumbling earthquake erupted beneath their feet, intensifying by the second.

**“FOUR MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS”** the same computerized voice announced dispassionately. It continued to count down unfeelingly.

That was more than enough for Batman. He released his iron grip on Ra’s Al Ghul’s neck and dropped him like a hot potato. “EVAC NOW!!!!” Bruce’s Bat-bellow could probably have been heard all the way to the Canadian/US border. 

Yep, Tim agreed. Time to get on up out of here! His brothers and sister and the Kingsman all concurred, the fight forgotten and heading flat out for the nearest exits. Ra’s ninja didn’t get in the way. They were too busy trying to save their own necks to be bothered with anything else. A couple of them loyally scooped up their stunned leader, his added weight only slowing them a little as they frantically tried to clear the imminent demise of the crumbling structure. After that, it was every ninja for his/herself! 

_Nineteen was dying._

Windows blew out, rooms filled with dust and debris and walls cracked and buckled under the stress of the estate’s impending doom. Quake machines installed beneath the structure and explosives placed within the walls goaded the luxury home’s death throes to a faster pace.

Miles away, Canadian seismologists registered the artificial quake and alerted the proper authorities, some of whom groaned very privately. First a pandemic, now this. What next, a plague of locusts?

_Nineteen was dying._

Nineteen looked like a smashed ant hill as bats, birds, knights and ninjas all scrambled to clear the building and grounds, piling out of windows and collapsing doorways before the place fell in on itself. Batman, his children, and allies kept running, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the doomed estate as possible.

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_Nineteen was dying._

“Uuuggh! Ahhh!” Dale Cooper finally came to with a monster headache and the floor shaking underneath his prone backside wasn’t making it any better. Wait, shaking? Why the hell was the floor shaking? Why were the walls shaking? Why was EVERYTHING SHAKING?! Dale’s brain tried valiantly to get him up and moving but it was all scrambled in there and nothing was making sense. His head felt like it was going to come off, he felt like puking and he couldn’t see straight. Dimly he registered people scurrying around him, running. He pulled to his feet. Time to get out. This was bollocks! Everest was bollocks! Ra’s Al Ghul was bollocks! It was all bollocks! Bloody HELL! No damn more for him! He staggered down a couple of flights of stairs, falling twice, then dragging to his feet. There! An intact doorway, the main entrance and ahead of it the broad front steps of the mansion. He was out of here and back into the world! Hotwire some wheels, bug out of this fancy hellhole, change his name, again, find another wealthy arsehole to suck up to and he was back in the good life! Ok, that’s a plan! He was twenty feet from the doorway! He was going to make it. The sharks weren’t going to get him after all!

_Nineteen was dying._

Dale made it to the doorway, pausing to grin thru the grime and blood smeared across his face. He was going to make it! He was out! He was safe! He was…The final series of programmed explosions released, and Nineteen spasmed one last time, crushing Dale and anybody else unlucky enough to still be inside under the collapsing tonnage of the colossal slate roof, taking the remaining standing walls down along with it. Dale, stunned and trapped under a fallen wooden beam, opened his bleary eyes in time to see a humongous chuck of concrete coming straight for his head. Well that just figured, didn’t it! Life was never fair to him! Just never fair! Then his head got squished like a ripe melon.

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The Bat and Kingsman jets, both in stealth mode, gained altitude and speed steadily, pulling away from the Canadian coastline. Nightwing, at the Batjet’s controls and the Kingsman’s pilot smoothly coordinated the dual withdrawal. Bruce pushed the combination of PPE and modified cowl back from his face, ruffling his sweat soaked hair. Damn, he was tired. Fighting Joker, Riddler, and Two Face and their goon squads often ended with him beat up, bruised and bloodied, much to Alfred’s stony displeasure, but encounters with Ra’s Al Ghul also left him utterly exhausted.

He checked the rest of his clan. Black Bat and Robin were stretched out in the rear of the plane, reclining seats pushed out to the fullest. Cass was peaceful, as silent in sleep and she was awake, but Bruce could hear soft snores from his youngest. The father smiled slightly. Damian hated being thought of as a child, hated even more being referred to or treated like one. But the fact was, his small young frame required a truckload of fuel every day to keep that little engine chugging. Enough sleep was a big part of it, so entirely willingly or not, when his body said sleep, he slept. Bruce reached up, grabbed a couple of warm blankets and covered his two children up gently, so as not to wake them.

A check on Tim found him wide awake, slouched loose limbed, eyes focused absently out the small window, not really trying to see much of anything. The normal dark circles and stress lines in his son’s face were a bit more pronounced, but he evinced a worn smile as Bruce approached.

“Hey B” he greeted in a whisper, conscious of his slumbering brother and sister.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to sleep too?” Bruce asked. “It’s a short trip back to the cave. You should grab as much rest as you can, especially after a day like this one. “

“I’d rather wait till I can crash in a real bed. I, uh…” the boy’s (Man, Bruce, this one is a man now, he reminded himself one more time) face took on a calculating cast. Bruce recognized the signs of an impending attempted negotiation. He readied himself.

“I don’t suppose-” Tim went on slowly, carefully, in the voice Bruce realized was the same one he used in WE’s boardroom, one that was quite effective by the way, “-that you would consider dropping me off at my place- meaning his theatre alley apartment- when we get back to Gotham.” He rushed on before Bruce could interject. “Look, I get it B. Pandemic, Coronavirus, social distancing. All that. I’ll be careful, I swear I will. I’ll even promise to stay home, not go out on patrols unless I clear it with you first. I’ll keep in close contact, put my place on a security lockdown, you name it, I’ll do it. It’s just I would like very, very much to sleep in my own bed. I mean, it’s been a while, you know?” he deliberately let a little pleading bleed into his voice.

“Tim, you have a bed waiting for you at Wayne Manor” Bruce supplied, quite reasonably, he felt. “A nice big soft bed, a whole room in fact.” He tried to keep his voice even. He wanted Tim to feel welcomed, not coerced.

“Yeah, I know, B. Look, this is probably going to come out wrong. I mean I know I can always consider the manor home, and I do, I really do. Even Damian and I getting along most of the time now, but… B, I need, I need…” Tim faltered, frustrated.

“You need to be in your own space. Someplace that feels like its just for you. Where you can scarf salted caramel death by chocolate ice cream straight from the carton with a fork, while buck naked doing a one armed hand stand and screaming the lyrics along with your favorite band right in the middle of your living room and nobody can tell you no?” Bruce rattled off. Bat relaxation rituals leaned towards the bizarre sometimes.

“Wh-uh, uh, well, um, uh” Tim stuttered, a little stunned. Was he supposed to follow that up with a coherent answer? He’d never expected that combination of words to ever come out of Bruce Wayne. Wow. Tim briefly considered trying to get it out of Alfred if anything like that had ever happened when Bruce was a teenager, then discarded the idea. Alfred was too loyal. He’d never spill.

Bruce ruthlessly suppressed a smile and reached out with one finger to gently close the boy’s (man, Bruce, he’s a man, he reminded himself one more time).

“Son, listen, no just let me talk for a minute” he rejoined quietly, holding up a hand to quell the imminent uprising. “Tim, I understand your need for some privacy, to feel like you’re taking back at least some control over your life. You have every right to. But kiddo, you need to acknowledge, Tim, with no spleen, you absolutely fit into the high risk/vulnerable category as far as COVID is concerned. Even with vaccines being distributed, we’re all still going to need to be very careful for months to come. And I don’t even want to think about Ra’s. He might be down right now, but we all _know_ he’s not going give up. He’ll be back. Add it all together, I’d be so much more comfortable with you living at the manor, but-“

“Come on B, Ra’s is going to be busy covering his Lazarus Pit ass for some time to come. Knowing we have a way to cancel them jacked his paranoia to a 10.5. I’m gonna be last on his list for a while. And I swear, I will not so much as think about going on patrol till you say it’s cool-wait, what? Was there a ‘but’ there at the end of your sentence?” Tim asked, his ears finally catching up to his mouth.

“But” Bruce picked up as if there had been no break, “I will agree to agree to drop you off at your apartment and let you **SHELTER IN PLACE THERE,** ” he gave the prior four words extra emphasis, “although I do have some conditions” he finished, in a tone that told his son there might be very little room for negotiation. He knew had had to handle this very carefully. He and Tim were finally getting back to a good place after a couple of years in the relationship weeds. Don’t blow it now, he coached himself. (Bruce talks to his inner self a lot. Some of the conversations wouldn’t necessarily make sense to anyone else, ok?).

“Ooookkkaayy” Tim relied cautiously, “let’s hear ‘em”

“Patrol for you is cancelled until further notice. I think we’ve already pushed that envelope farther than we should have, so I’m glad you’ve already agreed to it”. Bruce didn’t quite smother his pleasure at the statement.

Tim swallowed and concentrated on his breathing. Time to put on his big boy pants. So many people had it a lot worse than a measly patrol ban.

“Also, yes” his father nodded. “I don’t think you should be there alone, at least for the time being. I’m not particularly worried about Ra’s right now, but given everything that’s happened in the last couple of months, let alone the last couple of weeks, I’d feel much better if you had some company” Bruce told him.

“Tim nodded, squaring up and shaking his father’s hand. “You’ve got a deal. I promise no patrols. Ra’s is a non-issue for now, but, as for hanging out with the spleenless wonder here, just, well, who? Steph’s got her mom to worry about, Duke’s still in quarantine with his cousin, and you’re going to need Cass and Damian for patrol. Dick’s going to want to check on Bludhaven and Jason’s got Crime Alley and the rest of and his patrol routes to look after. So, who’s left?

Bruce looked thoughtful for a moment, then allowed the hint of a hint a smile to light his eyes. “Oh, I have an idea.”

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“Come on in, guv’nr” a grinning Eggsy Unwin urged lightly, motioning him in. “It don’t look right for you to be hovering in the doorway of your own flat like a stranger that way.”

A cheeky Kingsman camped out on his couch was the last thing Tim expected to find when he finally made it back to his place after three and a half eternally long months away. He’d had to endure a brief (brief in bat terms, that was) detour to the cave first for decontamination, debrief, blah, blah, blah, but here he was, at last, and the first thing he sees when he finally makes it past his security system is the brazenly cheerful Englishman. Eggsy’d obviously made himself at home, sock-footed, laid back and munching happily straight out of Tim’s only remaining carton of salted caramel death by chocolate ice cream. ( Bruce had called it. He had to consider that maybe B knew him a little too well.) At least Tim’s unexpected guest was using a spoon, not a fork, and he had all his clothes on and was right side up, so…small blessings.

“How did you-“ the totally drained, and until further notice, off duty Red Robin, began, dropping his travel bag by the door, he’d worry about unpacking later, “-never mind, you talked to Bruce” he concluded correctly.

Yeah, mate!” Eggsy confirmed, “who talked to ‘arry, who talked to the one who’s really in charge, my wife, and here I am!” the agent grinned, effervescent as ever. “It’s only for a couple of days, mind, till your brothers and your sister can shake free, but hey, I’m up for it. I never been to Gotham City. Sounded like fun!”

“Speaking of your wife, you’re telling me she was okay with you hanging out here instead of coming straight home after a mission?” Tim kind of doubted that. He wasn’t touching that whole coming to Gotham City “sounded like fun” thing.

“Mate, my Tilde is the best woman in the world” Gary Unwin smiled softly, picturing his petite blond love in his mind. “Besides” he went on, “she knew very well what she was getting’ into when she married me!” he informed Tim, a snarky smile recalling the literally insane circumstances that had brought he and his wife together. “Trust me, she’s fine with it. Anyways, she’s checking on her parents. It’s all good.”

“Ok, if you say so” Tim answered, figuring Eggsy knew his own marriage better that Tim ever could. “Um, how’d you get in? No offence, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have the skills to beat my security. Merlin help you hack it?” He’d better not have, Tim decided to himself.

“No, Master Tim” A second surprise, Alfred, emerged from the hallway, “I’ve remembered your entry codes from times past and retain my key” the elderly butler informed him calmly. “Master Unwin, the guest room is now properly prepared. You may retire there whenever you wish” Alfred informed Eggsy. “In the interim, it is customary to employ the use of a bowl when one is indulging in such frozen delights as that of which you are currently partaking” he advised the Kingsman, laying a placemat, napkins, the aforementioned bowl, and an ice cream scoop within Eggsy’s reach.

Eggsy colored but, showing a glimmer of the smarts Harry Hart had seen in him from the beginning, complied with a meek “Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth”

Tim stared. He had an ice cream scoop? Huh. 

“Master Tim, based on prior experience, I’m fairly well certain that you require sustenance beyond copious amounts of caffeine. I shall adjourn to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Do come in, my boy, relax. You live here lad, remember?” Alfred smiled fondly. This one grandson had always required a little extra minding, especially where feeding him was concerned. Alfred headed towards the kitchen.

“Um, Alfred, I might be a little low on ingredients” Tim hedged. After all, he hadn’t been here in several months.

“Nonsense, lad. One can get almost anything home delivered nowadays, even, I hear, groceries, including more salted caramel death by chocolate ice cream” Alfred threw over his shoulder indulgently. “I assure you, gentlemen, the situation is quite well in hand.” Alfred disappeared to perform his usual culinary magic.

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Tim had never been a big TV watcher (not to be confused with being a big movie buff, two totally different things in his book). Jack and Janet Drake weren’t exactly fans of the idiot box, except for keeping track of business news. Occasionally they would put on the History channel and rag on the theories put forth by their rivals in their chosen field of archeology, but that was about it as for as their tv time was concerned. They were gone a great deal more than not, of course, but in their frequent absences, Tim was “strongly encouraged” to devote himself to his studies. In between making sure his grades didn’t slip, (hell to pay from his mom especially if that happened), dodging nannies and paid minders, and running the rooftops at night, camera in hand, keeping up with Batman and Robin, that didn’t leave much time for television.

As a young adult with his own place, he still didn’t do a lot of tv. Twelve hour days at WE and nights on patrol pretty much gobbled time like a hungry Bat-cow. He tried, he did so, (shut up, Jason), try earnestly, for Alfred’s sake, if for no other reason, to wedge in time to eat and sleep, when he remembered , but generally, passing out in front of the thing on the comfiest section of his cushy sectional after patrol was it for his tv habits.

His siblings and his father and grandfather knew this about him, so it came as something of a shock when upon crashing his little brother’s apartment after patrol one early morning, bruised, banged up and bleeding (slightly) from a lucky swipe of a thug’s knife, Jason, with housewarming gift in hand (he wasn’t a heathen, and Alfred had taught him better than that anyway), entered after making the needed sacrifices to appease Tim’s security gods, groaned his way painfully thru the window and looked right at a beautiful 75 inch 4K UHD television complete with sound bars covering most of the opposite exposed brick wall. Well damn! Babybird had himself a kick ass home theatre set up! Who’d a thunk it? Computers yeah, but this? The Red Hood immediately started making plans to appropriate his fair share of butt time parked in front of the thing. No way was Jason going to suffer thru Britbox (Shakesepeare and Jane Austen) on the tiny sets in several of his safe houses when he could television like a king with this beauty.

Eventually, somebody in Tim’s family got around to asking him why he’d been so extravagant, buying what amounted to a private movieplex when he hardly ever even turned it on. 

Simple, Tim had replied. His friends. Kon, Bart and the rest of the Titans would blow into town occasionally, after having sucked up enough nerve to defy, discreetly, Batman’s no meta’s rule. Tim kept telling them as long as they kept their powers on the low it was cool with B, but still…

When they did, the whole group loved video games and movies, and playing them on that huge screen was amazing, especially for Kon and Bart. Tim’s sound proofed walls and shielded everything else meant they could crank up the noise until their ears bled and play all out for as long as they wanted or until they all passed out from exhaustion. Having a speedster in the group meant no food, or drink was off limits. Bart would zip off and fifteen minutes later they had food from different counties around the world or twenty pizzas from around the corner.

At any rate, the 4K had turned out to be one of the best buys of Tim’s life, proof of which was that he and Eggsy had been playing for hours, having long since devoured Alfred’s delicious lunch. They were neck deep in Tim’s favorite game. At the moment. Tim was winning, but not by much. His new Kingsman buddy had fast reflexes and thought on his feet, two qualities Tim appreciated. His avatar narrowly dodged an ambush and came up firing, plugging one attacker but barely missing the other. Their gaming had gone on so long, faithful Alfred was now in the process of preparing dinner. His grandfather was stolidly determined that the boy, they would always be his boys no matter how old they were, Master Bruce included, and Cass his baby girl, that the boy was adequately nourished. With Tim, it was always an uphill battle, but Alfred would fight on the beaches and on the landing grounds. He would fight in the fields and in the streets. He would fight in the hills. He would never surrender.

Eggsy had just scored major points, eliciting a sizable groan from Tim, when the screen suddenly fuzzed out, notifying Tim of an incoming call. He hit pause to allow the call all the way thru, then stiffened in surprise and disgust as the smarmy face of Ra’s Al Ghul filled the massive screen.

“Hello, Detective” the Demon’s Head hissed, consonants oozing from his lips sibilantly. “I am please to see you survived the tumult of our last encounter and appear to be…thriving.”

Tim controlled his gag reflex enough to do a quick visual assessment of his perverted old goat of a stalker. Ra’s was trying hard for suggestive and chilling but only made it as far as creepy and vomit inducing. He looked tired too, the young man noted. Like 800 years worth of tired. That kind of tired. Tim smiled a smile that would have made the Joker jealous.

“You look beat Ra’s. What’s up with that? Your latest spa treatment crap out on you?” he taunted knowingly.

Ra’s face darkened with anger and humiliation, the green eyes narrowing. All traces of smugness vanished in an instant and a small portion of the pain he was in showed thru his best efforts to hide it. He and his remaining ninja had retreated to Ra’s nearest stronghold to regroup and recover from the unexpected debacle. Ra’s had instantly sought to avail himself of the healing waters of the Lazarus Pit, the site chosen because one existed there, only to find the Pit’s waters dead, utterly ineffective. Tim’s nanites had gotten there first. The assassin leader’s subsequent hissy fit had threatened to engulf the entire base. Tim had known what he’d find.

“Very well played detective, but rest assured, your spy within my league shall be rooted out and punished in such a fashion that none other will dare defy me in such a way” Ra’s vowed in a strangled tone.

Tim doubted that. His inside ninja, one of several, planted during Tim’s time with the league while trying to rescue Bruce from the time stream, was long gone. They had signaled a successful mission while Tim was still on his way home from Canada thru a channel Tim still had in the League of Assassins computer systems, then bugged out hard, life debt now paid in full. They’d go deep and stay deep. Almost no chance Ra’s would ever find them.

“We will meet again, Detective” Ra’s declared, getting himself under control. “It is your destiny to become my heir. Our time together is just beginning.” The oily look was back, although it looked a little pasted on.

Reply came from an unexpected quarter.

“I think not, Mr. Al Ghul” Alfred Pennyworth interjected. The cool British reserve in his voice could have frozen the sun. “I heartily disapprove of your inappropriate attentions towards my family, Timothy specifically. You should be aware that should you persist in this unseemly pursuit, I shall be obliged to become personally involved. You have been warned. Good _bye_ , Mr. Al Ghul.” Having had his say, Alfred depressed the button severing the connection and killing the call. Tim would remember the coldcocked look on Ra’s Al Ghul’s face to the day he died.

Alfred turned to see his grandson eyeing him with pure, unfiltered awe. Alfred patted Tim fondly on the cheek.

Eggsy Unwin didn’t try to hide his amazed grin. All this time among Tim Drake-Wayne and his family, who would have suspected that the baddest bad ass of ‘em all was the oh so proper gentleman’s gentleman. He absolutely couldn’t wait to share that little gem with Harry.

“Mr. Pennyworth, sir” Eggsy got Alfred’s attention. “I believe I’m ready to call an end to this very long day. Might I trouble you for the necessary items for a shower. I’d like very much to take one, call my wife and fall into bed” the Kingsman requested politely.

“Of course, Master Unwin. Please follow me” Alfred gestured towards Tim’s guest room, which had its own shower.

Five minutes later he returned, prepared to use his considerable powers of persuasion to usher his grandson into the arms of Morpheus, only to discover Tim was already there, snoring quietly, the contents of the travel mug about to become one with his gaming controller.

Alfred gently divested the boy of the cold coffee, pulled Tim’s legs up onto the sofa, placed a pillow under the lad’s head and covered him with a soft throw. He retrieved his cell phone.

“Master Bruce, both the young men are sound asleep and I should like to be the same. Might I trouble you for transportation?” He waited briefly for the expected affirmative reply. “Very well, sir. I shall expect you directly.”

The old butler, former MI6 agent and theatre professional settled into Tim’s extremely comfortable Eames lounger, availed himself of the matching ottoman and nestled down to wait for his son to pick him up and return him back to the manor which had served as his home for the better part of forty years. The longest reaches of the night watch were just passing. The coming day was filled with promise, good and bad. Alfred wasn’t concerned. He and his family were ready.

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**_A/N:_ ** _I almost can’t believe it myself, but finally **THE END.** I have had an absolute blast writing this even when my computer, which did NOT want to cooperate, died at least twice. Let that be a lesson to all of us. Back your data up. You just never know. To anybody still reading to the end, thanks much and stay healthy, safe and LISTEN TO THE DR’S AND SCIENTISTS, **NOT the politicians.** Remember, everybody doesn’t have your best interests at heart, so use your common sense and **MASK UP**. It’s not just about you. Much love. _

**Author's Note:**

> I know that a lot of fanfiction holds that all the Bats, when in their civilian guise, have to pretend to be helpless so as not to blow their covers, but to me that is not realistic in this day and age of corporate kidnappings, drug cartels running wild and terrorist attacks. A lot of corporate executives and the wealthy, when not traveling with armed security, have invested in personal self-defense, combat and weapons training. Many of these people are not exactly defenseless. It seemed logical to me that Tim Drake-Wayne would be among that number, so I thought he should do better than meekly allow himself to be taken. You're free to disagree, but that's my take on it.


End file.
